Imperfection Is Perfection

“I love working at the bench. It’s the best part of the job.”—Richard Sachs

Filmmaker Desmond Horsfield has made a documentary about Richard Sachs. Having now seen the work no less than a half dozen times, I can say it is a momentous work encompassing all that Richard Sachs is: frame builder, racer and philosopher.

There are a number of theories about why Richard Sachs is arguably the most popular of all frame builders. I’ve often pondered the issue myself. Now I know. Even though I’ve known Sachs for more than 15 years, the documentary condenses the man to his essence. He is, frankly, the archetypal frame builder. Equal parts artisan, engineer, racer and theoretician, he is all things we imagine a master should be.

The film opens where it should: With riding shots of Sachs aboard his bike. Riding the bike is, after all, where it begins and ends for Sachs and where he wants the experience to begin and end for his clients.

From riding, Horsfield moves next to a shot of Sachs brazing. The thrill of seeing Sachs braze is akin to seeing Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly walk onscreen. It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The drama we experience as we watch is Horsfield’s creation. His camera movements are efficient, economic even, and his editing seamless, fluid.

Filmmaking is much like sculpture and the artist’s real talent comes in knowing what to take away; how to leave just enough behind. What you see onscreen is imperative.

One wonders how many people have actually seen the man braze. Like painting or writing, brazing is solitary effort, and as rarely recorded as whales mating. What you notice is his precision of movement, how his hands execute each act with the assured grace of the routine. To see him braze is to know the brush stroke of Monet. And all the while the voiceover continues as a counterpoint to the physicality of fabricating the frame itself.

Sachs gave Horsfield a surprisingly rich vein to mine. From saved letters and newspaper clipping to old photos and videotape, Sachs’ archives add a depth to the film utterly unexpected. We also see Sachs racing in his latest passion, cyclocross, and seeing him work his way up through slower traffic tells you just how serious he takes racing.

I expected to watch the film and come away with a better sense of how to build a great bicycle frame from steel. That didn’t happen. Ultimately, the film raises more questions than it answers. It’s a window into an endeavor, not a skill. That, perhaps, might be Horsfield’s great achievement; he created a film that reflects the conversation that Sachs wants to have, not the job skill we may imagine frame building to be.

In documenting Sachs’ lifetime of work, Horsfield has not only created a great film about two subjects we find fascinating—Sachs and frame building—but he has created an indispensable work for all those who find beauty in cycling.


To order the DVD go here. To learn more about the film maker and see a clip, go here.

Encore

Regardless of Cannondale's new seat at the Pacific table, one aspect is undeniable: the years under the Pegasus umbrella have led to some impressive developments in material technologies. The result is big leaps in the Cannondale product range and a trickle down of technologies to the lower price points.

I have been nothing short of astonished by the functionality and performance of my CAAD8. The most salient is the CAAD8's return on investment. The bike rides so wonderfully that it's hard to believe I paid hundreds, not thousands, of dollars for it. Therein lies the reason I have so much trouble moving on from it. I have no reason to replace it other than it's beginning to look dated and I have a fear (from my years in retail) of riding an oversized Al bike into its golden years. Aluminum has a tendency to throw in the towel when it's had enough and, if you miss its early tell-tale signs, the final curtain can prove to be pretty scary.

Based on my three joyous seasons aboard the CAAD8, buying another Cannondale seems like the obvious choice.

For the 2008 season, I plan to launch my mid-pack domination aboard Cannondale's newest and most advanced machine: the SuperSix. Hailing from Bedford, PA, the SuperSix is Cannondale's first full-carbon offering made in the good 'ol U.S. of A. Like all Cannondales, the pricing is reasonable and, if you look hard enough, there are deals to be found. My SuperSix arrived dressed in summer whites which is 2008's equivalent to 2006's natural (dress) weave. I wasn't given a choice for color, but I'm more than willing to live with the blanc. A company really has to miss the mark for a white product not to equate to PRO.

Although I only have a thousand miles on the new bike, its strengths are beginning to show. A walk around the SuperSix reveals some cool features:

BB30 specification - Negated by the use of Cannondale's threaded insert and the SRAM Red crankset, this is BKW's first brush with the future of BBs. Maybe it was a mistake not to use the SI crankset from Cannondale, but hey, the Red cranks look so damn nice and means I don't have to pop for the SIs.

1.5" head tube tapering to 1.125" - This modification seems to be all the rage in the carbon bike world, and it's intended to stiffen up the front end, especially under hard corning. A cool feature for feature's sake, but I don't recall the 1.125" head tube of the CAAD8 being overly flexy.


Super skinny seat stays a la Cervelo R3 - When paired with carbon, this has already proven to be a comfy addition. Again, the CAAD8 was extremely comfortable for an oversized Al bike, but the addition of carbon has helped to soak up the high frequency road buzz and low frequency bigger hits giving the Six a distinctively carbon bike feel, not a wooden feel like some, but rather the "magic carpet" feel that only high-quality carbon bikes can deliver.


Wickedly oversized down tube - The thick down tube, which when compared to the CAAD8, illustrates the control bike designers have over the cycling public's aesthetic tastes. When comparing the SuperSix to the current crop of carbon bikes, the downtube size is par for the course and does not seem the least bit out of place. Set the bike next to an elegant steel machine and the difference presents itself like ZaZa Gabor during a traffic stop.

With all of the surface area on the down tube, Cannondale's lawyers felt it was an ideal place to throw down the disclaimers, striking with a fury equal to the legalese of a McDonald's coffee cup. Taking their cues from loopholes of the mattress industry, the decal rests deep under the clear coat, assuring it is never removed, even by owner.


Since we're going to mix it up a bit with a full carbon rig, why not throw in a few other tweaks, like the SRAM Red group. The Red group began its season aboard the CAAD8 and with 1,000 miles of CA roads, roller time, and full-on crappy weather abuse, it has proven to be an amazing follow up effort from the gang at SRAM. I am especially fond of the lever reach adjustment, a feature Shimano and Campagnolo have ignored. With the adjustment dial tweaked, the levers are positioned optimally for use with the Newton Shallow Drops. Returning to a Campy hood may prove to be a challenge.

Greg will rest easier knowing that BKW has approved the purchase of a saddle with a touch of white and, although not entirely white, it will compliment the mandatory rule of summer tape. Thanks Greg!

In the hoop department, my loyalties stay with Mavic and, for 2008, I couldn't say no to the Ksyrium SL Premiums. I've been waiting with baited breath for Mavic to make a return to the all-black of 2000. It took all of my will to leave Interbike last year without the display wheels under my jacket. For the warmer months, the Cosmic Carbone PROs make their third appearance, this time sans MP3 program. Cross your fingers that the carbon wheel Karma is strong this season.

The SuperSix appears to be a refined CAAD8, incorporating the good and improving on the few weak areas. The Red group was love at first assembly and I trust it will only get better from here. Stay tuned for some further thoughts as the season goes on and the mileage goes up.

Andy Hampsten's Land Shark

One of the most interesting bikes at the Handmade Bicycle Show lacked the high-polished freshness of many of the bikes that had been assembled in the 72 hours prior to display. John Slawta of Land Shark presented the bike he built in 1988 for Andy Hampsten, the bike he would go on to win the Giro d'Italia aboard.

The bike featured crisp lug work and fastback seatstays.





In one corner of Slawta's booth he displayed the original promotional poster put out by Cinelli celebrating that great day on the Gavia. However, the most curious aspect of the display was in the lower right corner of the frame.

Slawta displayed a postcard signed by Andy and members of the 7-Eleven team.

Slawta's hand-scrawled notes regarding Andy's requested frame measurements. The bike was built around 56.5cm top and seat tubes a 74-degree seat-tube angle, 73.5-degree head tube angle and only 35mm of fork rake, resulting in a whopping 6.42cm of trail, which is roughly a full centimeter more than is used in most racing bikes made today. With so much trail, the bike steered deliberately and remained calm at high speed, just like our hero did on those crazy descents in the Dolomites.

An Interview With Darrell McCulloch, Part III

In our last installment of our interview with Dazza, we discuss inspiration, his riding and the nature of the custom bike experience.

BKW: From where do your draw inspiration?

DLM: From everywhere, from everyone, from everything around one that passes by, and perhaps something from inside me. I like to think I am a student of the world.

"Model Engineer" magazine is brilliant.

BKW: What about your own work continues to excite you?

DLM: Trying today to better what I did last week. Not just the metal work, but also all the other things that an independent framebuilder likes to do and must do.
I call my work or way I express myself in my work/lifestyle my Ph.D. that will never be completed.

BKW: Where do you think you are going with your frame building and also where do you think frame building will go?

DLM: Better, more refined and a greater recognition as an alternative to the ones that are sick of 900 gram awful riding and looking breaking carbon mass-produced stuff.


BKW: Do you ride and how often?

DLM: Five to six times a week. I don't pull the knicks on unless it is at least two hours pedaling and it must be first thing in the morning or it just does not happen.
No coffee shop stuff. I reckon coffee shop riding is a lame excuse to get on your bike.

I ride, look around and think and sometimes huff and puff when I am motivated to lean on the pedals. I like the hills.

For while I stopped riding for a few years (insert extra workshop toil here) lost the need to ride, that passed and now I have to ride! Sundays is with mates over some climbs for four hours.

BKW: Do you race, tour, MTB or ... other?

DLM: I did a lot of road and track racing for many years, also a few seasons in France; I loved racing on France, lots of seconds and thirds as my gallop was barely detectable by modern scientific instruments. I could scamper up a decent climb as I weighed about 60kgs. Touring, not yet, but I want to cycle tour properly, but I have to build myself a touring bicycle first. Project for next summer. No MTB here, life has been too short.

I love bush walking and camping, walk in and walk out stuff.


BKW: In a few words, can you sum up bespoke hand made frame construction?

DLM: Toil, more toil, lots of toil. More complicated than it was 10 or 20 years ago. Maybe that is why some lifetime builders struggle with the niche market that it is today.

However, it is fun, and rewarding to my soul. I would not have done it any other way.
Bicycles and racing have allowed me to visit and work in 23 countries, work two Olympics as national team mechanic, travel, enjoy good times with many friends around the world. All way more than I could have expected to see and do when I kicked off in Sandgate 1979.

So the toil has a nice payoff. What do I have to complain about? I am happy.


BKW: What do you want your clients to take away when you make them a bicycle?

DLM: A bicycle that gives them many years of enjoyable riding. So with each passing year, their Llewellyn bicycle gives them greater value. Thus they Cherish their Llewellyn. That pleases me.

An Interview With Darrell McCulloch, Part II

In Part II of our interview with Dazza, we discuss his love of polishing, his wait and how he plans to live a long time.

BKW: Do you work with stainless steel very often?

DLM: Yes.

Every frame I make has some stainless: the dropouts, cable guides and stoppers, chain hanger, front derailleur mount, and the heart detail between the stays. I use stainless here because it has merit. I like frame parts that function well, keeping paint tidy, no corrosion from road salts, or from people who perspire battery acid. Aesthetic is important but durability and function should never be sacrificed, intentionally or through ignorance. I see/hear people chatter on about so and so's dropouts or some other design feature they see on a frame, but 30 years of experience tells one that there will be grief and tears with some designs currently in fashion. There is reason why the long time professional builders have not done the design of a part or a frame that way.

Having said that, then there is my reputation for the bling bikes; but you know, I only do three to four of those elaborate stainless lugged frames each year. They get a lot of attention. Some of those have 250 hours of metal work in them. They hurt in many ways to make. This year I will make only three of those and two slots are already taken and the other one is being finalized. So if a client wants one, they need to sign up/deposit for a 2009 slot now.

BKW: Where are most of your customers located?

DLM: Mostly in Australia.
Most of my export frames go to the USA and these typically feature hand-cut, polished stainless lugs.


BKW: How many bikes do you deliver in the average year?

DLM: I have given up counting. Truly, I have not counted production for five years, but I can say, not as many as I would like to get out the door. Running the show takes more time than it used to when compared to the good old days.

Also, those elaborate stainless lugged frames take up a lot of energy, time. Each one is big black hole for 5 to 6 weeks.

BKW: How long is your waiting list?

DLM: It fluctuates from 6 to 12 months.

BKW: Tell us a bit about the red bike that was at the Handmade Bicycle Show. You said you had 250 hours in it.

DLM: Yes, 250 hours, that is not counting customer discussion time and sending pictures of the build process each night.

I cut a set of Pacenti lugs, crown and BB, in a variation of a theme I have done before, and I was very pleased with the results. I machine the seatstay plugs and hand miter them to the seat lug to fit and look the way I desire. Cut stainless details for aesthetics and many other extras. But I would like to stress, that bike frame is made to be ridden and be used, it is not fragile or for the mantle piece. No compromise is made on the ride and longevity of the bike because it has shiny bits.
Typical frame, fork and stem like that one is $9,500 AUD ($8,500 USD) or more depending on what the customer desires.

Compared to my normal build style road frame, fork, stem which still has stainless fittings, polished dropouts and other details for $3,800 AUD ($3,350 USD)


BKW: Do you paint your frames?

DLM: No, never, never want to, I am too young to die!

My old training partner from the early 80's, Joe Cosgrove, paints my work, he does a splendid job. He was very chuffed recently to receive high praise from Joe Bell and other paint legends while at NAHBS 2008.

I also think painting is so specialized, it is a full time Ph.D. that will never be finished. I think that builders compromise their painting if they apply themselves to the metal work and design of their bikes properly, or painters compromise their painting Ph.D. if they put time into metal work. Some do reasonable work in both skills, but they are limited or perhaps have to keep to a narrower pathway, and some are not always progressive or attuned to the changes and progress of today's market for hand made frames.


BKW: You seem pretty proud of your lug designs and other casting projects, are there delights on the drawing board?

DLM: If the handmade bespoke/custom bicycle scene is to stay healthy and vibrant, we builders cannot go on producing frames that are just repros of circa 1985 with the additions of some extra windows in the lugs with leather handle bar tape and pastel coloured paint jobs. These have their place and is super cool, but the demographics of these clients is dwindling each year.

The new generation of clients/enthusiasts are the new buyers. All they have seen is carbon this and carbon that but they can be shown the merits of both the traditional build methods and styles, fused with contemporary designs and styles. A better bicycle is the result. The best of the past with the best of today. We build better bicycles today than 30 years ago.

This desire prompted me to invest a lot of time and resources in designing and producing lugs and dropouts to strengthen what I do. I have to admit, it is a lot of toil, thrown on top of workshop production, added with the hiccups along the way. I have as much pride in these casting projects as the attention my stainless lugged frames receive.

As for new projects on the drawing board, the answer is yes and no for the time being. No, but yes, when time allows.

An Interview With Darrell McCulloch, Part I

BKW's recent trip Portland, Oregon, for the North American Handmade Bicycle Show was our first opportunity to see the work of a builder we had heard of for some time. We'd been hearing about Llewellyn Custom Biycles for years from folks who know great work and when confronted with his work, well, we were blown away. BKW's editors do not suffer this much lust easily.

Darrell Llewellyn McCulloch, "Dazza" to his friends, is one of a rare breed of framebuilder whose work inspires such an instant sense of awe that your first thought is, "Gosh, I'd love to have this frame." We talked with him at the show and made plans for an e-mail interview to follow.

BKW: Where are you located? Are you a native?

DLM: I was born in the city of Brisbane Australia, 1963. I live and work in my home located on the outskirts of Brisbane, where I can still ride away from the traffic and can still go for walks in the state forests across the road.

BKW: How long have you been building?

DLM: I have been associated with handmade frames and bike racing since 1979. I started building the "Llewellyn" marque in 1989 (Llewellyn is my middle name).

BKW: How did you learn your craft—were you self-taught or did you apprentice under someone?

DLM: I was a bit lost at school, looking for something to do with my hands. Was it going to be art, wood work, aviation, or...? Then, after reading a magazine article on frame building in a 1978 copy of Bicycling magazine, I fell in love with the notion of making bicycle frames. That article is responsible for sending me down the path of this tragic lifestyle. (Giggle.)


BKW: If you apprenticed under someone, can you tell us a bit about the builder?

DLM: I started work at Hoffy Cycles in Sandgate in 1979. The owner was Eric Hendren; he worked his whole life in that shop from age 13 till he retired 53 years later. I learned to fix coaster hubs, Sturmey-Archer 3-speeds, wheel building, frame repairs and some new frame work. Eric built frames with a vice, power drill, three files, and a surface plate. He was a good boss to me, but after 6 years I got restless and bored and wanted to move on.

An opportunity came to work for Brett Richardson (Berretto frames). This allowed me to get my hands into full time frame building (circa 1986), but the shop went through some partnership troubles so I ended up leaving and working in a bigger retail bike shop. A couple of years there and I was prompted to start Llewellyn Custom Bicycles as a part-time affair. The time was right.

Llewellyn was a part time affair while I raced in France and worked the summers in the shop. Then I worked full time with the Australian Institute of Sport—head road mechanic for two years—then I went part time with the teams and only did the Euro season from May to October. Based in Germany and then Italy, I did not see a Brisbane winter for 8 years.

The rest of my education is self discovery from inside my cave, absorbing as much as I can cope with.

BKW: Do you work in materials other than steel?

DLM: Oh yes, but only with splendidly fine materials; like a couple of glasses of good red wine with my fiancée.


BKW: In addition to working with lugs, do you fillet braze or TIG weld?

DLM: I used to do lugless fillet brazing with oversize shaped tubes, but it drove me nuts. The in built stresses from shaped (squashed) tubes annoyed me. So I created my own compact angled lugs for round oversize tubes and banished shaped main tubes from my life for ever. (Until recently, these were known as the Slant 6, and Mini 6 lug sets, now known as OS Compact and XL Compact.) The lugs are much better for the purity of the build processes, so this pleases me. I don't do funk or what this year's brochure has to have.

I want a good fit, accuracy of the build and no stresses in the frame. And it has to look pleasing while lasting a couple of decades.
No TIG here.

BKW: If you do work other than lugs, are lugs your preferred form of expression?

DLM: My chant is, "It's steel, it's lugs, let the others get on with the madness"

BKW: What is your preferred tubing these days?

DLM: I use lot of Columbus "Spirit for Lugs" tube sets. Good to work with, well made with sensible butt lengths. If I need special tubes for some frame designs or for bikes that have different tube requirements I will use a mix of suitable tubes from Dedacciai or True Temper.

BKW: What lugs do you like to work with?

DLM: My Llewellyn designed and produced lugs, like the standard oversize compact lugs (was Mini 6, now OS Compact ), and the extra large compact angled lug set (was Slant 6, now XL Compact), my socket stainless dropouts and lugged handlebar stems.
I created the stem and compact (sloping top tube lugs) lug sets to meet my needs, as there was nothing out there in the market and they blend traditional lugged frame construction with the merits of contemporary designs. I cannot understand builders who make a attractive lugged bike and plonk a CNC machined alloy handle bar stem on it. Makes me puke. I provide the lugs for other builders to use, and it was pleasing to meet these builders at Don (Walker)'s show (NAHBS) and see their good work with them.

For horizontal top tube frames I use Kirk Pacenti's artisan lugs for elaborate designs and I use Richard Sachs's lugs. Both are good mates and are life time tragics with bikes.

Handmade Bicycle Show: Thoughts

One of the all-time great head-tube badges, by Keith Anderson.

There is a distinct possibility that if you peeked out the back door of the Portland Convention Center, what you would see would be the pearly gates of heaven. Put another way, the last retail stop between Earth and Nirvana is the Handmade Bicycle Show; of that I'm certain.

It's not uncommon to attend Interbike only to hear someone say something inane like, "I hate Interbike." Being a cyclist and hating Interbike is as improbable as being an iPod owner and hating iTunes. Interbike is as close to visiting Santa's workshop as most of us will ever get. How could any cyclist truly dislike a roomful of brand new bikes watched over by knowledgeable bike industry veterans? This sort of ingenuous too-cool-for-school attitude is as grating as trying to complain that Richard Sachs is too commercial. One large McBreak please.

Sacha White with a bike he built for his daughter.

The show, unfortunately, now faces a problem. It is the only annual gathering in the U.S. more about the bike than the riding that is that is cooler than Interbike. That's no small feat. The powers-that-be will be paying attention to the Handmade Bicycle Show and they will be giving some thought to how they can pull some of the business their way.

The good news is that the only exhibitors who care to show to dealers—Shimano, SRAM, Cane Creek and Fizik—already appear at Interbike. The bread and butter of the show—the small builder—sell direct and therefore need only consumers. If anything, the Handmade Bicycle Show serves as another argument for why Interbike needs consumer days. The simple fact is Interbike needs the builders more than the builders need Interbike. For that reason, the show has little to fear from Interbike.

That the show has grown from its tiny first year to standing-room-only (the fire marshall slowed the entry of attendees on Saturday due to the facility reaching capacity). And while the climate for handmade bicycles has never been better, this achievement is as improbable as a pig with landing gear. There are three men deserving of credit.

Don Walker with his daughters.

First is Don Walker. The show concept started as a conversation between a handful of builders on the framebuilders' forum. Don, for reasons having more to do with seflessness than capitalism, took point as well as the first shots. It seems likely that the show made money this year and given the hours and money he has put in, he deserves to realize some reward.

Richard with his wife Deb and a hopeful future customer.

Second is Richard Sachs. Without Richard's mentoring of new builders and relentless promotion of the craft of framebuilding, there wouldn't be this many builders to exhibit. He can be credited as the gravity that helps to hold the solar system of builders together. Richard's announcement that he was attending the second show changed its status from curiosity to the must-see event of 2006.

Peter with customers Brent and Bess.

Third is Peter Weigle. Peter is the builder who least needed to attend. His business runs along and he works quietly, doing work universally recognized as exemplary. He doesn't need the show. His success and career are assured with or without the event; he can't sell more bicycles than he does in a year and isn't interested in a waiting list that measures by the score. But he chose to stand up for the community of which he is an important part and that lent the show a hard-won degree of credibility. If Richard's decision to exhibit was the motion before the board, then Peter's decision to exhibit was the second.

The attitude of the show was palpably collegial. From the exhibitors to the attendees, the event was remarkable because its lack of competition was so total as to constitute a vacuum. There was no pushing, no backbiting or badmouthing and definitely no desperate hawking. P.T. Barnum would have hated the event.

Keith Anderson (right) with his assistant Cory.

A bunch of NorCal builders took out a joint space. Exhibitors included Sycip, Steve Rex and Soulcraft. It was a bit like a party there. Neighbors Dave Kirk and Carl Strong shared a space as did Keith Anderson and Wolfhound.

Sacha's booth was also a fun nod to the 'cross life.

Sacha "Vanilla" White's booth was as interesting as the bikes in it. In addition to the Speedvagens on display he showed a bike he built for his daughter.

Mark Nobilette (left) with Dave Bohm of Bohemian.

There were a number of truly stunning bikes at the show. No surprise there. What might surprise you are my pick for three of the top bikes there. The first was a reproduction Rene Herse built by Mark Nobilette that featured handmade lugs. The revival of the brand is a project by Michael Kone (the original proprietor of Bicycle Classics) with all the fabrication work done by Nobilette. Next was a bike with hand cut lugs bearing Nobilette's own label.

My favorite bike of the show was a Llewellyn. As much as I loved the bikes from Richard, Peter and Brian Baylis, the Llewellyn was my favorite because it surprised me. It made seeing a custom frame fresh and looking it over was a process of discovery. It was the visual equivalent of how riding a new bike can make cycling fresh again.

Nick Crumpton (right) with his most loyal customer.


We also noted some BKW sympathizers in attendance. Steve Hampsten was hoofing it from one old friend to another and got a big smile from the Rapha commemorative Hampsten jersey. Builder Ira Ryan showed some nice stuff. We learned that Mike Zanconato is going full time with his building (Zanc has four dozen orders currently) and Cascade Bicycle Studio's Zac Daab was hanging with friends Bernard and Maxwell at 333fab.

Most events I attend I end up thinking, "Man, if they just added 'X' it would be really cool." I really can't find a way to criticize the event. I wouldn't mind doing some rides with the folks I saw, but I chose to travel without my bike. Scanning the photographs I took, what I'm most impressed by are the number of bikes and builders of whom I only got a fraction of the story.

Handmade Bicycle Show: Image Dump Part II

Red on red.

Rapha's jersey commemorating Hampsten's exploits on the Gavia.

Cool right down to the silk number. And if you have to ask how much ...

Pacenti fork crowns.

Crisp lug work from Steve Rex, a man better known for his fillet brazing.

Steve with daughter Sadie.

Spectrum Powder Works manages things in powder coating that look difficult even in paint.

Incredible to think you can have this much beauty and durability for the ages.

This matte finish was a stunner.

Handmade Bicycle Show: Image Dump

Collector Matt Gorski, builder Brian Baylis and Cirque du Cyclisme promoter Dale Brown.

Builder Ed Litton.

A Litton with a suicide shifter.

Pegoretti head tube badge.

Very trick Indy Fab logo rework.

Jig builder Don Ferris has a tribute devoted to him at the LiveSTRONG booth in light of his recent cancer diagnosis.



Guess who.

Low-Slung Fun

When presented the opportunity to build a bike start to finish, I elected to put my theory that cyclocross bikes are built with too little BB drop to the test. I had theorized for some time that a bike that handled more like a traditional stage racing bike would be easier to lean through the tight turns of a cyclocross course.

So the $64,000 question is: How does it handle? My experience in riding the bike I built under Stanton's guidance has been that the greater-than-usual BB drop does help the bike corner better than other cyclocross bikes I have ridden. Cornering clearance has not been a problem. On broad, sweeping crit-style corners where I have seen other riders pedal through the whole of the corner, I have been able to pedal through as well. On the super-tight corners that I have only ever seen in cyclocross courses, corners where the course sometimes literally doubles back on itself is where my rig really excels. I have been able to corner much more aggressively than many other riders. Likewise, I’ve noticed in watching other categories race over the same course that the corners I coasted through were corners other racers coasted through as well.

While I expected the bike to corner well, there were two other, subtle, handling assets I didn’t anticipate. I noticed that in riding through frozen ruts, or any ruts for that matter, that I tended to be thrown off my line less than other riders around me. And on the opposite end of the spectrum (though I believe the handling issue to be related), on sandy stretches I was much more comfortable allowing the bike to slide and drift than I have been on any other ‘cross bike. Indeed, one of my favorite memories of riding this bike was in my district championship and and feeling the bike drift slightly while hammering under full power over sandy hardpack.

But don’t take my word for it. When Tim Rutledge, the former product manager for Redline first got the green light to introduce a Redline cyclocross frame and fork, he elected to design a bike that would handle like a traditional road bike when equipped with a 23mm clincher. He modeled the geometry after two bikes he saw reviewed in Bicycle Guide: an Eddy Merckx and Mario Cipollini’s custom Cannondale. Both were built around 7.5cm of BB drop. Rutledge has moved on to other pastures and Redline’s geometry has evolved to reflect that the company now offers complete road bikes, but Rutledge won a master’s national championship (as did several others) aboard the bike he designed.

The tragedy here is that no one truly understands the interplay of all aspects of bicycle geometry. By that I mean, there isn't an engineer out there who can explain in objective terms how each dimension relates to the others. We know in broad strokes how they relate, but as the previous comments have shown, there is some disagreement about what one truly experiences as bottom bracket height changes. Our use of terminology confuses the issue: Is a bike with a low bottom bracket (7.5cm of drop or more) more stable or more maneuverable? It comes down to how you think about bicycle handling. And while the specific differences in physics between how two-wheel and four-wheel vehicles handle are substantial, I do believe the differences in handling between a Mini Cooper and an SUV do help to illustrate the difference in sensation, because what is at stake is a matter of perception--if the rider or driver perceives confident handling, greater speed seems possible and not unreasonable.

While it is true that I could have shortened the bike’s trail or wheelbase, both those approaches have liabilities related to tire clearance and toe overlap that must be worked around. I think most builders would say that less trail will make a bike more responsive, but that isn’t the same thing as cornering easily and what I was looking for was a bike that I could lean without fighting, a bike that increased my sense of confidence when in a corner. I found a design that I like, no more no less. Ultimately, the question is why the industry continues to follow a convention based on a piece of equipment no longer used, a convention which can be validly questioned.

Vacation Frame Building Camp

Talking to frame builders is a dangerous business. If you do it enough, you begin to think you know the craft. You start to develop your own ideas about frame geometry, the lines of a seat lug and how your name for a bike would be way better than what is out there.

Disabusing us of these ideas isn’t the business of the frame builder. Rather, we are left to our own devices and either we learn just how skilled the torch bearers are, or we decide to take up the craft ourselves. A few years ago, I was invited to take a middle road.

For those who follow the ranks of juniors, Toby Stanton is known for producing more national championship winning riders than any two coaches combined. Jonathan Page, Robby Dapice, Jesse Anthony, Larssyn Staley, Saul Raisin and Will Frischkorn all called him coach. He also builds and paints frames under the label Hot Tubes and in the late 1990s he began teaching frame building classes to the curious.

The class takes the uninitiated from un-mitered tube to painted frame. Choices along the way include lugs or TIG welding, not to mention the opportunity to design your own logo. Some in the industry have expressed some skepticism about Stanton’s ability to impart all that a frame builder needs to learn in a single 9-5 week. He is clear with everyone the workshop is not a trade school for future professionals, though that's not to say builders haven't apprenticed under him. Upon my arrival he stated repeatedly, “This is about your comfort level; you can do as much or as little as you want.” You could say it is frame builder fantasy camp—a guided tour, if you will.

For me, it was the perfect opportunity to test my theory that a ‘cross bike with a lower BB would corner more easily. What we settled on was a cyclocross frame with a 59-centimeter seat tube (measured center to center), a 58cm top tube, 42cm chainstays, 43 mm of fork rake, parallel 73-degree seat and head tube angles and the kicker: 7.5cm of bottom bracket drop—a full centimeter lower than most ‘cross frames. With a set of road clinchers this bike would have the bottom bracket height of a traditional Italian stage racing bike, about 26.5cm. Toby walked me through the steps for producing the drawing, which detailed the angle of each junction and each tube’s length down to the millimeter. We then mitered each tube and began fitting them together in the frame jig.


While the experience wasn’t meant to make you think like a framebuilder, Stanton’s coaching gifts came into play as we moved through each step. He would ask questions about each step to see if I understood why we were doing things in a certain way. Each question served to illustrate the methodical thinking a good frame builder must use to produce a strong and straight frame.

Most tubes received two cuts per end: one for the angle and one to conform to the round profile of the tube. I deburred each end on a belt sander, filed each edge square and Dremeled the inside of each lug smooth. Only then did we begin brazing.


The first thing I learned about the torch was that even though silver has a low melting point, we were working with temperatures in excess of 1000 degrees Fahrenheit. I had the skittish demeanor of a schoolboy trying to light a roman candle from 50 paces. Stanton passed his hand 10 inches in front of the flame without wincing. In doing so he demonstrated the most crucial facet of the framebuilder’s craft: heat is dispensed only where it needs to be. With a flame as small as he uses (he, like many builders, uses the smallest tip available: #0) what he waves around has all the focus of a camera lens opened up to F2—virtually no depth of field. What he gave me to wave over the joint had nothing in common with a flamethrower.


On the four joints of the main triangle he broke me in gradually, demonstrating first and then handing over the torch and silver rod. In a few spots where I seemed to have trouble coordinating torch and rod he let me hold one while he deftly wielded the other. Trying to heat the seat tube/bottom bracket joint while holding the silver rod in the right spot and see the joint without having some part of your anatomy brush up against hot steel is a little like driving a stick for the first time.
I burned up some flux, left some globs of silver and, in short, did what seemed really questionable work. Stanton’s voice was even and patient: “Okay, now you’re burning up the flux, so back off on the heat.” Once the brazing was complete, the filing began.


We had done nothing to alter the basic line of the lugs themselves, but I wanted to make sure that I thinned the points as well as removed all the casting seams. For an experienced builder the process is simple, but for the uninitiated, a minute can go by while you try to choose the right file to work on a curve. It seemed as if Stanton could remove in three file strokes what it took me ten or more to accomplish. Builders will talk about how silver is soft; don’t believe them. Silver is still metal and this precious element doesn’t file away like the wood in a Cub Scout’s Pinewood Derby car. Day two ended as day three would begin: with me filing.

By the time we brazed the fork my skill had improved dramatically, but I still waivered between so little heat that I bent the silver rod rather than feeding it in and heating the joint to the point that the silver was practically sucked into the joint like a chocolate bar into the maw of a five-year-old.

We checked both the frame and fork for alignment and I attempted to hide my amazement: They were as straight as a Nevada highway. Stanton handled the sandblasting and painting duties, though I understand he now guides students through these steps as well.

In 40 hours (maybe a bit more) we went from uncut tubes and a simple theory to a finished frame. After baking the paint overnight, I assembled it into a bike and raced it a day later at ‘cross nationals.

Given the long nature of this post, my riding experience will come in a subsequent post, an unexpected Part III, if you will.

How High?

In a world full of absurdist concepts, I’ve got one that won’t make you blink: Your bicycle is on your shoulder and you don’t live on a second story walk-up. You are running through a farm pasture, have not committed a crime and your bicycle works perfectly well.

Sounds like a great time, huh? Such is our love of cyclocross. There’s something in this equation that doesn’t quite add up, and it’s not that we carry our bicycles. It comes when we put that bike back down and willingly lob our asses skyward. Whether we have dreams of procreation or not, the delicate business means landing sidesaddle in proximity to a collection of biology known to us primarily for its ability to remind us of what NOT to do, the event is meant only to speed our return to the pedals. Click, click—and we’re off again.

Years ago the process was a little more involved. You had to hit each pedal with your foot, flip it over and jam your foot back in. Because races took place on grass, the bicycle’s bottom bracket had to be much higher than that of a traditional road bike so the toe clips wouldn’t drag in the grass—this is a detail the Frogs figured out in the 1950s.

Fast forward to, oh say, now. Swing the right knee skyward and once safely aboard, the feet go straight into the pedal stroke, no flipping over of the pedals.

So why are bottom bracket heights on cyclocross bikes still on average 2cm higher than those on road bikes?

It wouldn’t be a cause for concern were it not for this little detail. Name another cycling event where the rider makes tighter turns? Add to that the fact that these oh-so-tight turns are conducted aboard bikes with 700C wheels and it’s fair to ask the question: What can we do to make this bike easier to turn?

The answer is simple: Make it easier to lean the bike over to carve a tight turn. Okay, so how do you do that? Simple. Lower the bottom bracket. Drop the center of gravity of the bicycle and leaning the bicycle into a turn becomes a good bit easier.

How much could it be dropped? It’s hard to say; there hasn’t been much experimentation with this. Pedaling through corners doesn’t happen to the same degree it does in crits, so dragging a pedal through the dirt isn’t a big concern.

To illustrate the point, let’s consider an example in extreme. Say you’re driving down a twisty road. Would you rather take the twists and turns in a Ford Expedition or a Mini Cooper? My preference would be for the Mini Cooper, with a center of gravity lower than most Congressional standards, it can turn circles around the SUV. Put another way, I’d rather run a steeplechase barefoot than on stilts.

I went to the trouble to build, with the help of Toby Stanton of Hot Tubes, a ‘cross bike with a low bottom bracket. In Part II I’ll describe the process of building the bike and racing it at ‘Cross Nat’s and since.

Photos courtesy Chris Milliman

Guys Who Ride the Stuff They Sell

Bill McGann riding with Mauro Mondonico in Tuscany.

On a late spring morning more that 10 years ago, I visited a nondescript commercial space in Ventura County, California. Home to Torelli Imports, it was my introduction to “Chairman” Bill McGann and his wife Carol. We changed into cycling clothing and he took me for a pleasant tour of the hills surrounding his home. By “pleasant tour” I mean that Bill took me out and schooled me. I’ve felt fresher after some races. Then we went out for burritos larger than some crainia.

For those who only know Bill from his ads, it might be helpful to mention that he was a Category 1 racer for many years and once knocked out a 100-mile training ride with one other guy in four hours. Ever modest, he claims to have been the eternal 3rd, but leaves out that his era overlapped that of Greg LeMond. He grudgingly admits an exception to his eternal bronzing, the time he turned a 56 minute 40k TT on a bike with 36-spoke wheels, drop bar and brake cables flapping in the wind. He was the fastest 28-year-old going in California.

If asked how far to the top of a 10k climb, Bill will tell you, "Just a little further." It would seem he thinks anything less than two hours isn't a proper ride. His idea of a good time: pulling off the front of a paceline at 26 mph and checking your calves for signs of weakness. I know this because I’ve seen him do it repeatedly. I always fear he will shout out as Gino Bartali’s domestique did the day he saw a vein in Fausto Coppi’s leg become swollen during a race—a sign Bartali took to signal fatigue in Coppi—“The vein, the vein!” he cried.

Bill has a fundamental belief that bicycling should be an extraordinary experience, that pedaling should, in itself, be a rewarding recreation. While fitness gained through brutal training is a wonderful thing, riding is enough. Those who ride with him know that this man who has been pedaling through the citrus perfume of lemon groves for more than 30 years proclaims his rides to be "paradise itself."

Bill is the classic Renaissance man. He can quote historian Will Durant. He knows the top 10 on GC from every Tour de France in history. He understands Gothic architecture. He wrote (with the assistance of his wife Carol) a very fine book on the history of the Tour. He is a fiend for great comics and was hip to Frazz and Jef Mallett from virtually its beginning. He makes his own bread and composts in his back yard.

His bikes have never been the lightest on the planet, nor the very stiffest. What they do offer can be called all-day comfort, sufficient stiffness and handling so finely balanced you'd think the bike was designed with the aid of the Golden Mean. He describes it as stage-race geometry: bicycles meant to be ridden well by even the most fatigued legs. To ride a Torelli, fairly put, is to know what Bill believes to be a good time.

A few years ago Bill told me of a conversation he had with Richard Sachs in which they all but swore a blood oath to start a club: Guys Who Race the S@#$ They Sell. They figured there would be little need to charge dues as there wouldn’t be many people eligible for membership.

Mr. Atmo himself, drilling it in 'cross.

For the purpose of the adaptation we’ll expand this to anyone who rides a product he sells. It’s still a relatively select club, but one that will creates a large enough population to be worth pursuing.

I hope they’ll forgive this appropriation. There’s no truer route to the soul of a bike company proprietor than by riding with him. No one starts a bike company without a passion for cycling and there’s nothing like going for a ride with someone to learn about their passion for the sport. It usually leads to a conversation about a product they love to ride, one they have brought to market. The revelations are always interesting.

Stay tuned for future installments from rides with Guys Who Ride the Stuff They Sell (GWRTSTS).

Cannondale CAAD 8

In November 2005, I filled out an employee purchase form for my first Cannondale. Sure, I had sold thousands of these oversized, U.S.-made gems to countless cyclists on both coasts and points in-between. However, even with all of my theoretical understanding of Cannondales, I had very little first-hand experience.

I had just sold my Look 585 and I was hoping to downsize the cost of the frame in an effort to purchase an SRM. Employee purchase price - $800: frame, fork, and FSA headset. I ordered the SRM at the same time. It cost 3X the price of the frame. This was to be an experiment, an attempt to learn first-hand what the SRM was all about. Two seasons later, the SRM is gone and CAAD8 remains my go-to bike.

The CAAD8 arrived four weeks later and it was a vision of practicality and functionality. The frame was brushed al-u-min-e-um with a clear coat. The tubes were classic Cannondale/Fosters: (largely oversized) with welds that were ground smooth. The decals were PRO-style (read: big and everywhere) and, aside from the legal disclaimer on the down tube, the bike looked the same as Cunego's: PRO. The fork had a classic curve to it: sexy, like the forks of yesterday and a trait that appears to be less common as the years go on. The fork was Cannondale's Premium and had alloy drop outs.

I promptly built the CAAD8 with a Record group, Classic wheels, and an SRM. It was fully equipped to handle the rough winter that lay ahead. I immediately packed the bike into a box and shipped it off to Massachusetts for my annual winter training camp. I spent hours and hours on it, alone, hammering the back roads and quaint villages of the New England seacoast. I spent most of my time pushing buttons on the SRM and watching the numbers. The bike was almost invisible, a trait I often equate with excellence. The ride was stiff; stiffer than the 585 vertically but laterally, the bikes stiffness reminded me of stepping off a loading dock. The BB was rigid and uncompromisingly stiff.

Following the winter camp, I arrived back home and eagerly joined my local group ride. I wanted to talk numbers with other power users and to see how the Cannondale rode in a group environment.

My experiences at this point were limited to solo rides on smooth country roads. The Cannondale had performed no better or worse than any other bike I had ridden. But when paired with 30 other eager roadies and let loose in a group setting, the CAAD8 unleashes a side of its personality that can only be defined as brutal and 100% business. To quote my pal BI, the bike becomes a weapon.

Cannondale has managed to capture the heart of a killer in a sweet and innocent package. Of course, the CAAD8 was the choice of Cunego (despite his access to the CAAD8's big brother, the SIX13) and for good reason, but when one compares the Cannondale's price tag to that of other PRO machines (Colnago, Pinarello, BMC) it can easily be dismissed as unable to deliver the soul and liveliness of these other, higher priced machines.

The stiffness generated in the BB would lead one to think the corresponding ride would be too stiff, abusing the rider and beating their kidneys into submission. However, Cannondale has blessed this bike with the ability to deliver a very comfortable ride, one that is not often associated with oversized aluminum. My longest ride on this bike hovers around 4.5 hours and, at this point, the ride has yet to leave me asking for relief. When paired with tubulars, the bike takes on an even greater degree of comfort.

When out of the saddle the CAAD8 begs for more, any effort put into the pedals is directly transferred into forward momentum, driving even a clincher tire to sing like a silk tubular. The stiffness of the BB is simply intoxicating. The bike begs you to train harder and to hit the weights in the off-season in an effort to build the very legs this bike deserves. Whether slamming closed a gap or shooting for the town line sprint, the Cannondale is as eager as a groom on his wedding night.

There is only one sensation from the CAAD8 that can rival its acceleration and that is cornering. I'd be selling the Cannondale short by suggesting anything less than taking one for a spin, but for the sake of this post, this is where the weapon analogy really takes hold. The Cannondale is like the friend in high school who was blessed with the ability to avoid trouble and injury, he always had a way of talking you into doing things you knew you'd regret. The Cannondale is simply fearless in turns. High speed sweepers or off camber 90º turns, the CAAD8 is up for it if you are. Go ahead, I dare you.

It may seem tough to believe that a bike could be so inexpensive and perfect at the same time. Well, there were some issues with the bike. Upon arrival, the clear coat was applied over some oxidation on the tubes, giving the creases and corners of the frame a smokey, black appearance. I recall thinking this must be a fact of the employee purchase price. But then again, an employee purchase would indicate the CAAD 8 would be leveraged to sell other Cannondales. Perfection should be a priority.

The other issue was the fork: the Premium fork was a constant source of concern for me in the early months because I was never able to adjust the HS and have it stay snug. After a couple of rides, the HS would work its way loose again. I pulled the fork and replaced it with a Premium+ I purchased from eBay. Apparently, the Premium+ was not available as an aftermarket option so gray market was my only choice. With the Premium+ installed, my problem was solved. Although, I am not one to believe a small change such as carbon drop outs vs. aluminum drop outs would affect the ride, but the Premium+ is a better riding fork. The Cannondale rep said the fork had a different carbon lay up, but I wasn't able to confirm this. My thought is that it's doubtful Cannondale would change the lay up of carbon for the Premium+ without sacking the fork with a "premium" price tag.


The CAAD8 has served me very well, better than most road bikes, the Cannondale has remained in my stable longer than any other production bike (barring my Bridgestones).

I have ridden the CAAD8 with Record, tubulars, clinchers, light wheels, heavy wheels, and with an SRM and without. The bike has been built in many a livery, most recently Dura Ace. Back in July of this year, following a brief Italian holiday, I cobbled the CAAD8 back together in an effort to perform a side-by-side comparision. A winner takes all competition that would pit the Cannondale against the Don from Cambiago. It was not about pride, or bragging rights, it was about money. More specifically, the 4k I had tied up in the Colnago. One weekend, one bike left standing.

My Cannondale enters season three in December.

The Soul of the Machine

Hint: It's not chocolate, it's ...

When Fat City Cycles was sold to the holding company owner of Serotta Competition Cycles in ‘94, bike junkies everywhere wondered what would happen to the soul of the company. Riders discussed whether or not a Slim Chance or Yo Eddy! Made by Serotta’s builders still constituted a Fat Chance. The issue arose because the new owner of Fat City announced none of the old employees would be retained; only Chris Chance and his partner would move to Saratoga Springs, NY.

Soon after, Steve Elmes, Lloyd Graves and other former Fat City employees announced the formation of Independent Fabrication, complicating the question. There was no doubt any bike made by the Serotta staff would be fine, but the people behind Indy Fab had been touted as the heart and soul of Fat City. So what were they now, (pardon me) chopped liver? For those concerned with brand equity, the situation was something of a conundrum: In what did the soul of Fat City reside? Was it the bike with the FCC decal or the bike made by the world-famous staff in Somerville, Mass?

What gives a bicycle soul? People talk a lot about soul and which bikes have it. There's no doubt a Sachs or Weigle has it in spades, but some of that is only appreciable when you get off the bike—you can’t really admire the lug work at 25 mph. We can discuss beauty all day long, but bicycles are made to be ridden and the most important part of any evaluation of a bicycle should be based on the ride of the bike, not how cool the paintwork is (which, in the case of Weigle, Joe Bell or Brian Baylis is undeniably so). Judging a bike on ride quality is the only way to level the playing field, otherwise the bikes made by corporations would all be considered crap. Oh wait, I suspect there are a few bikies out there who already think that.

John "Columbine" Murphy's hand-cut lugs and stem

As a rule, soul is associated with any bicycle made by an individual; Sacha White's Vanilla Bicycles have soul even though most cyclists don't know much about the guy (worth finding out). Simply put, if the decal on the side of the bike is the name of the person with metal slivers in his (or her) fingers, the bike has soul. If the decal only carries the name of a corporation and therefore doesn’t point to an indivi