Keri's Motobecane, Part 2

     There isn't much in the bicycle mythos that is more worshiped or revered than the bicycle wheel.  Specifically, the traditional bicycle wheel, if you want to retain the mystical connotation.  It is an under-appreciated wonder of engineering, and represents a perfect combination of simplicity, elegance, and good design.  There's a lot to be said about the bicycle wheel, and this isn't a place where you'll hear a lot of it.  If I were to go into a more in-depth explanation of what goes into a bicycle wheel, this would be a very long and probably somewhat boring post.  Instead, I'm just going to recount my experience of my first completely solo wheel build, with nuggets of vital information.

Starting the wheel building process.  January 9, 2013

     I say completely solo because I had help on my first wheel build ever.  A coworker in Indiana helped me plan and build a wheelset for a very awesome Schwinn racing bike from the 1970's that I briefly owned.  He essentially walked me through the process of lacing the wheel, and then he wrapped it up by tensioning the spokes.  We only did this for the rear wheel, for I attempted to solo the front wheel but couldn't figure out how to start the lacing.  Looking back, I blame his desire to uphold a common signature of wheel building:  lining up any sort of logo on the hub with the valve stem hole.  It's a little tricky as typically a hub gets turned during the lacing process.  He ended up building that wheel for me.

     Since then I hadn't tried to build any wheels.  The need, or funds, never really came up.  That began to change as our bicycles re-entered our lives after moving to Tucson, Arizona.  In particular I was needing to build a set of wheels for my fiancee Keri's Motobecane.  We got her bike with the stock wheels, sporting beautiful high flange hubs and--gulp--single-walled rims.  Interestingly enough, the front rim is aluminum, and the rear is steel.  The hubs are the same, so that leads me to believe they are the original wheels.  Not sure what is going on with that.

     But the problem, besides the fact that Keri was riding on inferior, ready-to-bust wheels, was that she kept getting flats.  A ridiculous number of flats.  As a mechanic, who has to change numerous tubes a day, I am typically pretty unsympathetic about this sort of thing.  Getting a flat is part of riding a bike, plain and simple.  But Keri was having serious trouble, especially from her rims.  Now, a bit of bicycle knowledge.

     Between single-walled rims and double-walled rims, there is no contest.  Single-walled rims are significantly weaker, more prone to going out of true, and their only positive quality is that they are the cheaper alternative.  Double-walled rims are more or less the norm on any bike past the $500 mark, and as my former manager would always say, "No bike mechanic would build himself a wheel without a double-walled rim."  They are much stronger, add very little weight, and the price jump is honestly not that bad.  What you gain in integrity far outpaces the price jump.

Left:  Single-walled rim.  Note the upside-down U shape of the rim.  Source
Right:  Double-walled rim.  Note the second wall, adding a dramatic amount of strength.  Source

     Rim tape, which is used on double-walled rims to protect the tube from blowing out on the milled nipple holes, is tougher than rim strips, which are essentially giant rubber bands.  The rubber rim strips were not covering up all of the little holes that tend to line the inside edges of steel rims either, and I am certain those were causing trouble for her too.  So, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and work on upgrading her wheels entirely.

     One of my greatest hang ups when picking out components for a wheel is the hub.  I have a great affection for vintage hub designs, specifically high flanges and narrow hub shell.  Some of the most beautiful hubs, in my opinion, have a deep yet gentle concave profile.  They're hard to come by, and nowadays they only exist as track hubs, although I'll admit I don't find many modern track hubs very keen to look at.  More typical road hubs simply don't follow the aesthetic of their predecessors, they tend to have low flanges and thick hub shells, with hard angles connecting the two.  Not there is anything specifically wrong with this style, I just prefer the older look.  I've spent a lot of time looking at hubs, trying to find ones I liked.  Then one day, I realized how silly I was being.  I could just use the hubs that came with her bike!

Left:  Nasty side shot of the hub.
Right:  Stamped name on the hub shell, reads "NORMANDY FRANCE".
Both taken November 29, 2012

     They are, from the best that I can tell, the stock hubs that would have come on the bike.  Normandy hubs, made in France.  Aluminum, thirty-six holes and overall a nice design.  Not my favorite, but a nice look.  They resemble a pair of Campagnolo hubs I have laced to a set of vintage wheels hanging on my wall. I started by unlacing the front wheel.  After that, I took the hub in with me to work and disassembled it to clean and repack everything.  I have an ultrasonic parts cleaner at my disposal there, and that did a good job of removing a lot of the grim and crud.  A lot of the tarnish still persisted, however, so I had to use another trick.  A Google search unveiled a relatively simple procedure using Brillo pads and elbow grease to clean up aluminium.  Filling the kitchen sink with warm water, I scrubbed away.  All-in-all it worked rather well, considering I only spent a few bucks on a box full of Brillo pads.  The site that offered the Brillo trick also suggested rubbing a ball of aluminium foil onto the object to shine it up, but this did not yield any favorable results for me.  This is probably because there aren't many flat surfaces on the hub.  But maybe I was just doing it wrong.

Look at how shiny and clean it turned out!  Note:  The golden yellow tone
comes from the poor lighting of my living room.  December 1, 2012

     While disassembling the hub, I accidentally botched up the axle.  Old axles tend to have a shallow groove cut along the length of the axle, for keyed washers that lie between the cone and lock nut.  The same thing tends to exist more commonly on threaded headsets.  And just like on the threaded headsets, these keyed washers tend to turn in place and lodge their key in the threads.  If you're careful you can usually work the washer back to where the key lines up with the key slot, but if you're not careful you can booger up the threads.  This is what I ended up doing to the original axle.  I decided on replacing it with a modern axle, which isn't that big of a deal.  There isn't much that is special about axles, at least to me.

     With the hub finished up, I was able to make all of the necessary measurements to calculate spoke length.  There is some fancy math you can use to do this (I don't know it) but nowadays there are a plethora of online spoke length calculators.  I used the United Bicycle Institute's calculator.  296mm spokes were what came out for me, for a three-cross front wheel.  Time for some more explanation.

An example of a spoke on a three cross wheel.  Each arrow points to a
point where the highlighted spoke is crossing another spoke.  January 14, 2013

     The lacing of the spokes of a bicycle wheel is just one of the several ways to categorize wheels.  The United Bicycle Institute's calculator goes up to five-cross, so I guess you can say you can go from zero to five.  The term " # cross" signifies how many other spokes a single spoke will bisect.  On a three-cross wheel, every spoke crosses three other spokes.  On a four-cross wheel, every spoke crosses four other spokes.  This design is a simple yet extremely effective way of building strength--through tangents, much like a truss bridge--into a bicycle wheel in a lightweight manner.  Typically the more spokes a single spoke crosses, the stronger the wheel.  This adds weight of course (due to longer spokes) but the increase in weight is not a tremendous thing.  Three-cross wheels are considered the "norm", although this is slowly disappearing.  I chose to lace Keri's wheel in three-cross mostly because I've found they are easy to replace spokes in.  I've had to replace spokes in four-cross wheels and I found it frustrating sliding the spoke into place.

     The spokes I used were cheaper, relatively simple spokes.  The problem is that spokes can be very expensive, and can be just as "high tech" as the hubs or rims.  I went with Wheel Master straight gauge stainless steel spokes.  A box of seventy-five spokes retails for $30, and although I don't need seventy-five, it ended up being my cheapest option.  For a little more money, I could have gone with some DT Swiss double-butted spokes, which would be stronger and lighter, but it would have been a hassle.  I figure this wheel will be a good preliminary build for Keri, if she gets more serious we can bust out the big bucks when the time comes.

     The final component is the rim, and an important one it is!  There aren't many 27" rim options out there anymore.  The only two viable options I had were Sun or Weinmann rims.  I decided to stay away from Weinmann.  They don't really make a bad product but they are sort of synonymous with cheap in wheels.  Sun, on the other hand, makes some nice yet affordable rims, and I've actually had experience with them.  I own a pair of pre-built wheels with Sun M-13II rims that are currently on my Fuji or Cannondale (I have to swap between bikes depending on what I want to ride.)  They look great and have held up well for over a year now.  I could have gotten another M-13II rim but I figured I already know how it holds up, so I'll experiment and try the Sun CR-18.  It is a little more wide but also appears to be a little more sturdy.  In addition, the 27" CR-18 comes polished.  Pretty!

A Christmas gift from Keri, which I used to build her wheel!  Source

     With all of the parts finally in my possession, I could begin the wheel building process.  Luckily I had just received the book "Zinn & the Art of Road Bike Maintenance" from Keri for Christmas, and it has a step-by-step procedure for building a three-cross wheel.  I then proceeded to sit on my living room floor and anxiously began the lacing process.

Beginning of the lacing process.  Sun CR-18 rim, Zinn's book, Normandy hub,
36 nipples and spokes, spoke wrench and slotted screwdriver.  January 9, 2013

     I won't go into any real detail on the lacing process, as it would balloon the size of the post and isn't that relevant.  To sum it up, I began by lacing half of the spokes for one flange to the rim, and then laced half of the spokes for the opposite flange.

A quarter of the spokes laced, another quarter ready to be laced.  January 9, 2013

     Then I spun the hub as far as I could and began truly lacing the third quarter of spokes.  I say truly because it was at this point that I started crossing spokes and, in a sense, weaving them to create a strong wheel.  After the last two quarters of spokes were done, I had an untensioned, yet fully laced, bicycle wheel.  What an accomplishment it felt like!  But the hardest part was about to happen, the tensioning.

Three quarters of the spokes are laced.  Note how it is beginning to
resemble a normal wheel.  January 9, 2013

     Naturally, after lacing a wheel you have to bring all of the spokes up to proper tension.  A poorly tensioned wheel won't last as long as a properly done one, and tensioning can be a tricky process.  I did some preliminary tensioning at home, by tightening every spoke until I knew I was in the ball-park.  But I had to eventually take it into work with me to use a proper truing stand.  I attempted to use a bike and it's fork flipped upside down, but that only helped me get into the ballpark.  It didn't quite provide me with the precision I was needing.  In addition to tensioning the spokes I have to of course maintain lateral trueness--that's the elimination of side-to-side wobble--and radial trueness--making sure the rim is a perfect circle and not lopsided.  There is also the dish of the wheel to consider, which essentially means whether or not the rim is in the center of the fork or frame when the wheel is mounted.  Balancing all of these attributes while making sure the spokes are at a proper tension can be harrowing on the mind, especially when dealing with thirty-six of them!  Eventually I managed to get the wheel within sufficient tolerances.  No wheel is truly perfect, simply because there are too many elements pushing and pulling against others.  You could make a perfectly true wheel, but it may not be uniformly tensioned.  Likewise, a uniformly tensioned wheel more than likely wouldn't be perfectly true.  You have to reach a state of balance between all of these parameters in order to build a good wheel.  There is some serious Taoism going on in wheel building.

Finished wheel.  Note the rings of reflected light on the
floor and walls.  Shiny!  January 14, 2013

     With the wheel ready, I applied the rim tape, installed the tire and tube, and mounted the wheel in the Motobecane's fork.  Needless to say, it all looks great.  Can't wait to start on the rear wheel.

Final product.  January 14, 2013

Fuji-san, Part 2

The Fuji prior to its cleaning, resting on the Rillito River Path.
Note the brown chain.  July 11, 2012

     I'll begin this post with some more mundane information which I did not include in my previous post, introducing my favorite Fuji bicycle.  I chose to not go into this information because at the time I was doing that work on the bike, I simply didn't have the information yet.  Not that it was beyond me--it all started with me recording the serial number--but I simply wasn't interested, or didn't think to research the bike.  Sometime in the middle of the summer of 2012, however, after my beloved mountain bike was stolen, I took it upon myself to record the serial numbers of all the bikes under my supervision.  In doing so, I became interested in the story of my bike.  What year was it?  What model?  Was all of the stuff that I hadn't changed yet truly stock?  Luckily for me, this information wasn't too terribly hard to find.

Scan from the 1980 Fuji catalog.  That is my bike, although I apparently have the "Ice Blue" version.  Source

     By my best reckoning, my Fuji is an S12-S made in July of 1980.  This was a touring model for Fuji that started in the early 1970's, as the S10-S.  Originally a "ten speed", with five gears in the rear and two gears in the front, in 1977 it got upgraded to a twelve speed drivetrain, with six gears in the back.  In 1979 it became the S12-S, gaining small upgrades such as a Nitto stem, new derailleurs, and side-pull brakes.  Between 1979 and 1980 the S12-S is nearly identical, with the only real change being the unique derailleurs.  The 1981 model gained an extra chainring, bumping the gearing up to eighteen speeds.  So my bike sits right in 1980, which is slightly disappointing, as I always wanted to have a steel bike from the 1970's.  But hey, the Blues Brothers movie was released in 1980, so I can take that as a good sign.

     With that out of the way, I can describe the latest work I've done to the bike.  It all started in the middle of December, 2012, one night after work when I decided to linger around and wait for my fiancee Keri to get off so we could both drive home.  I was anxious to get started on a small project I had been planning, to basically clean and polish up the stem on my Fuji as it was a bit scuffed up and had some nasty tarnish on the underside of the shaft forward.  As is often the case when casually working on one's own equipment, I got lost in the moment and found myself with an almost completely unassembled bicycle, having removed the drivetrain, handlebars and stem.  I figured with the bike out of commission as I cleaned the stem, it was as good a time as any to clean up the derailleurs.  I had just recently cleaned my freewheel in our parts cleaner at work, and it came out looking almost brand new, so I was excited to see what my beautiful derailleurs would look like.  I was in for a bit of a surprise.

Rear derailleur, before going into the parts cleaner.  December 13, 2012

The arrow points to the gap in the cage,
allowing the chain to be
easily removed.  January 4, 2013

     But first, a word on the derailleurs.  As with the crank arms, both the front and rear derailleurs on the S12-S were specially marked with the Fuji name.  Made by Suntour, the Vx S (rear) and Vx (front) are exceptional middle-range derailleurs.  They are not top-of-the-line, but for me they are perfect.  More than anything, I think they are extremely nice looking and very elegant.  I am very fond of the Quick Cage feature especially on the rear derailleur.  Notice in the picture to the right  how there is no outward plate connecting the pulleys on the cage of the derailleur.  This allows you to easily remove the chain from the derailleur, a process that would otherwise require you to either break the chain, or loosen both pulley bolts to remove the cage plate.  Instead, with this design I just bend the chain a bit and it falls right out.  Beautiful.

Rear derailleur, after the parts cleaner.  Note the chunk of black paint that came off!  December 13, 2012

     As you can see above, the derailleur came out looking very nice and clean, except for one part... the paint!  The parts cleaner ate off a sizeable chunk of the thin black paint backing the raised Fuji label.  As I discovered this, the front derailleur was in the parts cleaner, losing an even larger part of its paint.  I should have known better, the parts cleaner has been known to remove the thin plastic veneer that covers a lot of modern Shimano components.  To say I was upset would be an understatement, but I quickly decided how I would fix it:  model paint.

     The stem on the other hand, the whole reason for me dismantling my bike, came out with hardly any noticeable improvements.  Sure, some of the tarnish was gone, but the stem didn't really shine the way I wanted it to.  A week or so later, while in Wal-Mart the metal polish section caught my eye, and after reading through the labels I picked up Brasso Metal Polish.  That night I attempted to polish up the stem but again, with little result.  I guess compared to how the stem originally was, it is an improvement, but it didn't really turn out the way I had in mind.  Of course, I have virtually no experience in polishing metals, and I'm sure there are some tricks I could learn to really make it look the way I want.  For now, this'll have to do though.

Left:  Stem before cleaning.  Note the black splotches and tarnish.  December 13, 2012
Right:  Stem after cleaning and polishing.  January 6, 2013

     Back to the derailleurs.  I bought a quarter ounce vial of Testors Gloss Black enamel model paint from Michaels, hoping to remedy the decorative destruction the parts cleaner wrought on my beautiful Suntour derailleurs.  The first night, sitting on the kitchen floor with paper towels as my protection against coloring the linoleum, I tediously and carefully pricked paint onto the bare metal surface using one of Keri's wooden makeup tools.  It should be noted here that I do not excel at such tedious affairs, because my hands have never been tremendously steady.  The process was a bit stressful on me, for I had a great fear of ruining the part even more than before, and even a slight bob of my hand in the wrong direction could, and did, put paint where it didn't need to be.  I had to scrape the raised letters clean with the opposite, chisel shaped end of Keri's tool.  It turned out okay.  I can see the flaws and tell it is painted, but a coworker said she wouldn't have noticed if I didn't point it out, so I guess I did well enough.

The newly installed and painted Suntour Vx S rear derailleur.  January 4, 2013

     The front derailleur's paint job turned out a little better in my opinion.  There was less to paint around the letters for it, which meant it wasn't as tedious.  The painted section is also facing forward on the seat tube clamp, which makes it a little less obvious when looking at the bike from the side.  While I had the part off I noticed a surprisingly deep groove cut into the outward cage plate, caused by the chain rubbing and grinding into the metal due to the derailleur not being properly trimmed.  I had never noticed this before, and it scared me a little, but I have seen far worse, that is for sure.  It'll be fine for me.

Left:  Newly painted and installed Suntour Vx front derailleur.  January 4, 2013
Right:  The worn groove on the outward cage plate of the front derailleur.  January 4, 2013

     I chose to not clean the cranks or chainrings simply because I did not want to risk any damage to the molded lettering.  Yes, I could potentially fix it with model paint, but the end result doesn't look nearly as good as the original.  I'm okay with it being a little dirty, for now.  Perhaps after I get a little better at this, I can give it a shot.

     The final piece to the puzzle was putting it all back together and wrapping my handlebars with new bar tape.  With my new Brooks saddle, some of my coworkers suggested I go with my idea of getting brown bar tape.  I toyed with the idea of getting leather bar tape, but the honest truth is that it is just too expensive, and I've heard it isn't even that comfortable either.  I went with my standby, Origin-8 Cork Handlebar Tape, color brown.  And I have to say, it looks great.

Left:  A rare shot of me actually working on a bike, taken by a kind coworker.
Right Top:  Down the top tube.
Right Middle:  Bottom bracket shell from the front triangle.  Note the small crease
of rust between the seat tube and down tube, oh no!
Right Bottom:  Bottom bracket shell from the rear triangle.
All taken January 4, 2013

     I was so happy to get this bike running again.  In the three or so weeks the Fuji was in pieces, I had to ride my Cannondale.  Although the Cannondale has some special meaning to me, I just don't like riding it as much as the Fuji.  Steel is real, as they say.  Or maybe it's the geometry, my Cannondale has very aggressive racing geometry, compared to the more lackadaisical touring geometry of the Fuji.  Whatever the reason may truly be, I love my Fuji, I love the Brooks, and I love the brown bar tape.

Full shot of the completed bike.  January 4, 2013

     I have semi-secret names for all of my bikes.  At least they were semi-secrets, they won't be anymore, as nothing is a secret on the internet.  The first bike I named, Yamamaru, was my Cannondale mountain bike that has been stolen from me.  The second bike, Douromaru, is my Cannondale road bike that I still have, and begrudgingly had to ride for the past month.  I haven't, and won't, name my dad's mountain bike.  The Fuji, I decided last night, will simply be named Fuji-san.  The Japanese name for Mount Fuji, Fuji-san can also be translated simply as Mr. Fuji.  Indeed, it seems the Japanese have, at least subconsciously, some kind of unusual association that mountains are entities instead of things, a sentiment I can agree with.  Perhaps that is reading too far into it.  But, I like it, and it is simple.  Fuji-san it is.  I hope to hold onto the bike for a very, very long time.

Note:  For those interested in an unusually well put together and informative website on rear derailleurs, I can recommend Disraeli Gears.  It is where I gained some knowledge on my own equipment, and I find it interesting to read about some of the other ones out there as well.

I can also recommend this website as a resource for "Classic Fuji" bicycles, years 1971 through 1991.  It is where I found the information regarding serial numbers, and there are quite a few catalog scans from every one of those years.  A great website for Fuji enthusiasts.

Fuji-san, Part 1

     At this point in my life, I have a stable of four bikes: two of my own bikes, the mountain bike I inherited from my dad, and I have current custody of my mom's road bike.  I guess you could say five if you count my fiancee Keri's bike.  Between the two bikes that I ride, my 1980 Fuji is by far my favorite.

The beautiful crank arm, on the day I got my Fuji.  August 11, 2011

     In the middle of August, 2011 I was starting my last month of work at Ike's Bikes, the small bike shop in Richmond, Indiana that I consider myself to "come from."  Our work day was over, and as we were locking up the place a guy rolled up to the store on a bike.  Frustrated , I opened the door and asked if there was anything we could do for him real quick.  He said he was wanting to sell the bike, and as I was explaining the shop policy--"We don't buy bikes, but we will sell it for you on consignment"--I took a look at what he rode in on.  The first thing I noticed was the head tube; this thing was huge!  It probably fit me.  It was an old steel road bike.  It was a Fuji.  And it actually looked to be in halfway decent shape.  I wanted to buy the bike, but I was not in any financial position to shell out the amount of cash I figured the guy would want.  I mentioned this, and after some back and forth prodding he gave me a price:  $30.

     Thirty dollars!  My manager had to spot me some cash, but we gave the man his money and the bike was mine.  I'll probably never forget my manager's comment after we wheeled the bike back into the shop.  "Man, you need to make sure you never get rid of those crank arms."  As seen in the above picture, the name Fuji is molded into the crank arm in an almost art-deco style.  I've never seen a crank arm that I like more than these.

The original setup, granny reflectors and all.  August 11, 2011

     I rode the bike home and excitedly started planning what I was going to do to it.  The giant reflectors--front, rear, and one on each wheel--had to go.  The saddle wasn't in good condition, and neither was the bar-tape.  The wheels were probably the least-impressive part of the bike:  single-walled rims and un-extraordinary.  But the frame and drivetrain were beautiful.  I knew I had a real gem.

Left:  The rear derailleur.  Top Right:  Rear drivetrain.  Bottom Right:  Dia-compe ratcheting friction shifters.  All taken the day I got the bike.  August 11, 2011

The drive side cup.  Note the Mount Fuji
stamp at the top.
August 26, 2011

     For this particular blog post, I'll recount what I did to the bike while still in Indiana.  In the next post, I'll tell what I've done more recently.  I essentially broke the bike down as far as it would go, removing and cleaning the componentry and prepping it for the more essential upgrades that I could afford at the time.  I discovered that even the bottom bracket was special:  stamped on both cups was a very tiny outline of Mount Fuji--Fuji-san in Japanese--which is Fuji Bicycle's logo.  I was surprised and very excited to find this.  It's not every day you find unique markings on a bottom bracket.  The bottom bracket--the bearings and spindle which your crank mounts to, allowing your feet to spin and pedal--is rarely embellished or adorned, especially nowadays.

Non-drive side cup.  Again, note the
smaller Mount Fuji Stamp.
August 26, 2011

     A few weeks passed as I waited for funds to accumulate and parts to come in.  I had to change the brakes for a few reasons.  First and foremost, I was going to eventually replace the 27" wheelset for a 700c wheelset.  I needed to do this because the bike actually ended up being just a hair too tall for me.  I could ride it, but the top tube was just high enough to make it slightly uncomfortable.  Since the 700c wheel size is slightly smaller than a 27" wheel, I figured this would alleviate enough of that to make the bike tolerable.  Lucky for me, I would end up being right.

     But first I had to get new brake calipers.  I briefly went over this in my post about Keri's Motobecane, but I'll go over it again here.  Because 27" and 700c wheels are so close to one another, brake calipers exist out there that can work with either wheel size.  These "long reach" calipers are great for exactly what I was wanting to do:  convert a bike to a smaller wheel size.  Luckily at the time I was able to get my hands on some Tektro R536 long reach, standard bolt calipers.  They don't make these anymore, or at least I can't find them.  They're great because they were actually affordable, being around $30 each.  The closest part I can find now is much more expensive, I believe about double the price.  I've actually contemplated cleaning up those old calipers and reinstalling them on the bike.  But I would have to return to 27" wheels, and I just can't do that.  So these Tektros will have to do for now.

Left:  Original brake calipers.  Nasty.  Right:  New brake calipers.  Shiny.  September 6, 2011

     In addition to the calipers, I wanted new levers.  What came on the bike were the older, non-aero style levers that I just don't like.  It's purely an aesthetic issue for me.  Even though I tend to love old things on bikes, this style of brake lever is one place where I need something more modern.  To clarify what I'm talking about, aero style brake levers are what you could say is the modern norm.  The brake cable and housing leave the brake lever through the rear, and run under the bar tape along the handlebar until it exits the bar tape, where it then heads toward the brake caliper.  The older non-aero style has the cable and housing exit the lever at the top, looping up and around to wherever it needs to go.  I don't find it very elegant, and it has always bothered me.  Some people like this style, and I can respect that, but I'll just never be able to appreciate it.  I ended up getting some nice Dia-Compe BL-07 levers, a nice and affordable, and appropriately retro looking, set of levers.  I've been very happy with them.

Left:  The non-aero style on the Fuji the day it came home.  August 11, 2011  Right:  An example of the routing of cables on an aero style setup, before the bar tape is applied.  September 14, 2011

     With the brakes sorted out, the other adjustments I made were rather minor.  I got a new seatpost, an Origin-8 Sport Lite Alloy Post, in silver.  Nothing too fancy, I mostly upgraded this because I don't much care for the pillar style post and the mounting guts that come with it.  The Sport Lite uses a double bolt setup where each bolt essentially counter-tensions the other.  It is admittedly not the most elegant adjustment to make, at least in my opinion, but I love the way it looks and it felt right on such a classy bike.  The saddle I got for the bike at this time was an Origin-8 Pro Fit, an affordable, sleek and lightweight saddle that is honestly a bit more serious than anything I should ever need.  But to be truthful, it has been one of the most comfortable saddles I've ever owned.  I would eventually replace the saddle with a Brooks, as I discussed in a previous post.

The Origin-8 Sport Lite post and Pro Fit saddle.  Ignore the improperly placed plate on that bolt, I wasn't finished yet.  September 6, 2011

     The last part I swapped out at the time were the pedals.  It came with what you should expect from a bike of this era, "quill" style road pedals.  I like the visual aesthetic of the pedals, but I hate riding with them.  They are designed to have a "right" side and "wrong" side, the "right" side being raised and the "wrong" side being convex and difficult to keep your foot on.  I recently learned these pedals are like this to allow for tighter cornering.  It makes sense, but I want to know why an "equal" sided pedal in this visual style hasn't been made yet.

The Origin-8 Track Pro pedals.  September 6, 2011

     I have a somewhat strange affinity for track pedals.  I know, they run on the same idea of a "right" and "wrong" side, but it is usually much less pronounced and flipping them is, I've found, much easier.  They can also look pretty sharp.  They may look odd on a bike like mine to some people, but I enjoy it.  I splurged a little on the pedals, getting the Origin-8 Track Pro pedals, coming in at about $30.  It was splurging at the time.  These sleek, silver pedals look great, and with sealed bearings they have been great.

     The frame was overall in great condition.  No rust, and the paint job was almost pristine.  I did notice on the top tube what appeared to be a series of scratches and scrapes, covered in blue touch-up paint that wasn't quite the right tone.  The fork was also in good shape, although the chromed parts did have some spots of surface rust.  I improvised and used a small amount of Tri-Flow with a very high grit sand paper to very lightly rub off the surface rust.  It may have not been the best solution, but I feel I did a good job.

Left:  Surface rust on the fork, before touching up.  Right:  After touching up with Tri-Flow and sandpaper.  September 6, 2011

     Finally I wrapped the bars with one of my standbys:  Origin-8 Cork Handlebar Tape.  Black, of course.  I kept the original wheels, as they would be expensive to upgrade, and I was going to get some Continental Gatorskin tires of course.  I was only a few weeks from moving to Arizona anyways, so that could wait.  The bike sadly saw little use during my first half year in Arizona, for I was in the biking hell-hole that is Bullhead City.  I rode my bikes only twice in the six months I lived there.  Finally, when Keri and I moved to Tucson, was I able to enjoy my bike again, and I soon began to like my Fuji more than my Cannondale.  Not too long after the move, though, I noticed a tear in the sidewall of the old, decaying tires on the Fuji.  Too poor to even buy a new tire--and not wanting to due to my plans to eventually go to 700c--I actually took the relatively new 700c wheels from my Cannondale, complete with Gatorskin tires, and put them on the Fuji.  Thank goodness for forward thinking with those brake calipers!  Since then, the Fuji has become my main bike, and I love it.  In my next blog post, I'll go over the recent cleaning I've done with the bike.

The awesome Fuji head badge.  August 11, 2011

Last Gift from Dad

     I think the last gift my dad actually gave me was an old TomTom GPS that he sent in the mail.  But after his passing, my brother and I acquired the last few hundred dollars he had in his bank account.  My mom suggested we each use our share of the money to buy ourselves a nice gift, as a final gift from him to us.  My brother bought himself a beautiful acoustic guitar, and I decided to spend a small chunk of my money on a Brooks saddle.

Metal plate on the rear of the saddle.  December 5, 2012

     I've wanted a Brooks ever since I learned about them, but they have always been out of my budget.  The B17, Brooks' sort of "flagship model" usually comes in at around $120, and although you definitely get what you pay for, sometimes you just can't pay it.  For those uninitiated in leather saddles, I'll shed some light on what the big deal is.

Right out of the box.  December 5, 2012

     What is probably the most objective "big deal" about leather saddles is that as you ride on the saddle, it breaks in for you and only you.  The leather, slung between a pair of metal rails like a hammock, breaks down as it supports your weight and absorbs your body heat and sweat.  The leather will slowly form to fit the bones in your rear-end, and basically creates one-in-a-million saddle made just for you.  The break-in period is the worst thing about a leather saddle (besides the price) and can be lengthy depending on how often the saddle is ridden.  A brand new leather saddle will feel extremely hard and uncomfortable, but this fades away as it forms to fit you.  Some people don't like this, and some say it isn't comfortable even after the break-in.

     Besides that, there is mostly the charm and allure of riding a handmade piece of artisan craftsmanship.  In an age where bicycle saddles are predominantly a combination of plastic, foam and gel, where engineers are constantly tweaking overly-complex ideas on how to make a saddle be ultra-comfortable for a wide berth of people, it can be refreshing to just plant your rear on a single, thick piece of cured British leather.  Brooks has been making some of their saddles more or less the same way for over a hundred years by now, and I consider that impressive.

One of the better pictures of the saddle, amusingly taken on my phone locked in front of a Target.  December 5, 2012

     Getting mine turned out to be a bit more of a hassle than I expected, but I finally got my hands on it.  I decided to go with the B17 Standard, which is their "flagship model", as I previously mentioned.  The B17 has been in Brooks' catalog since 1898, and stands strong as an iconic and timeless pillar in the bicycle world.  The moment I pedaled down the street on mine, I fell in love with it.  It is still taking a little getting-used-to, mostly because the leather is very slick and I find my pants often slipping on the smooth finish.  I got my hands on some of the Proofide, a special all-natural leather dressing that Brooks supplies to help the break-in process, so I will be using that soon.

     I wanted to get something that would last me a long time with my dad's money, and I wanted to get something that I know he'd approve of.  I think a quality, hand-made bicycle part fit the bill perfectly.  He had a great respect for hand-made items, naturally, and I inherited that respect from him.

     And the saddle looks great on my Fuji.

Keri's Motobecane, Part 1

     My girlfriend Keri never really had a bicycle of her own as an adult until we moved to Tucson, Arizona.  Within a few weeks of relocating to the famously bicycle-friendly city, we snagged her a good deal off of Craigslist:  an old Motobecane mixte frame from the early '70's for only $75.  Someone along the line had converted the original ten-speed into a single-speed, thankfully keeping the original five-speed freewheel and just mounting the chain on the middle cog.  The bike also sported "chop n' flop" bullhorn bars, wrapped in bright pink tape and equipped with older, slightly odd mountain bike brake levers.  With plans to eventually return a derailleur to the bike to grant it gears, we bought it and Keri has greatly enjoyed the bike since then.

Keri and I on the Rillito River Path the day we bought it.  April 16, 2012

     One of the difficult things about buying a really old bike off of Craigslist is that it can sometimes be a real pain in the butt to get any information about the bicycle.  Things like what year, model, or sometimes even brand can be difficult to ascertain without a little luck or direction.  Keri's Motobecane doesn't say anywhere on the frame what model it is, and after a handful of somewhat impatient Google searches, I've discovered that most old Motobecane serial numbers hold no real information and are essentially a random array of numbers.  I was able to find some scans of old Motobecane catalogs from the early '70's though, and the bike is, by my best guess, a Grand Touring mixte frame from somewhere around 1972 or 1973.  While I feel very confident on its status as a Grand Touring, the year is honestly mostly a shot in the dark.  But it works for me.

     While Keri's bike is a means of transportation and a way to have fun for her, to me it is a fixer-upper.  I saw a lot I could do with the bike, and was excited at the prospect of customizing it to her desires.  Unfortunately, the cost of doing this has been beyond our budget for several months.  But in early November we decided to pull some funds together and get her bike one step toward her goal:  a fully equipped and fully geared commuters bike.

     But before this recent project, we did upgrade some parts of her bike:  namely the saddle and pedals.  The saddle that came with the bike was a ratty old Specialized saddle, probably from the late '90's or early 2000's by my best guess.  It wasn't very comfortable and looked awful, both as a saddle individually and on the bike itself.  After I told her that we could get cheap, colored saddles from Origin-8, we got her a bright pink Road Pro saddle.  The pedals that came with the bike were also some no-name old quill-style road pedals.  Keri was not a fan of them at all, especially with their nature of having to flip them to the appropriate side, so we got her some platform pedals.  Only normal platform pedals wouldn't cut it, so we went with the Odyssey Twisted PC pedals, in a lovely "grape" plastic color.  After the saddle and pedals came in, Keri was worried her bike was too colorful, but instead I feel it gives her bike some personality.

The Odyssey Twisted PC pedals and Origin-8 Road Pro saddle.  November 28, 2012

     The real fun starts here however.  Someone who had owned the bike before us (I don't believe it was the person we purchased it from) had given the bike "chop 'n flop" bullhorn handlebars.  "Chop 'n flop" is a common practice to get fully functional bullhorn handlebars by cutting most of the drops off of a standard drop-bar handlebar and flipping it upside down in the stem.  If done correctly, and it isn't that hard to do so, someone can get a set of admittedly narrow bullhorns.  I had actually done this on a bike I previously owned, and discovered my affinity for bullhorn handlebars.  Unfortunately, bullhorns are currently "claimed" by the hipsters and their fixed-gear bicycles, and I couldn't stand to equip my Fuji with bullhorns as I am trying to maintain the original aesthetic of the bike.  But, Keri liked her bullhorns quite a bit.  The problem was her brake levers:  to put it simply, they were not the ideal setup for bullhorn handlebars.

Note the cramped area between the brake levers.  This is not what we wanted.  November 7, 2012

     Bullhorn handlebars can essentially run with two style of brake levers:  cross levers, and tri levers.  Cross levers are, hence the name, usually found on cyclo-cross bikes (and touring bikes, in my experience) and serve the role as a secondary brake lever, mounted on the flat section of drop bars near the stem.  I call them interrupter levers, because they essentially interrupt the brake line and allow for a safe, secondary hand position.  They tend to be small and simple in design, and because of this, they tend to be the perfect brake lever for bullhorns.  Tri levers are somewhat similar to the traditional drop levers found on drop bars, except they mount in the upturned ends of the bullhorns and angle down.  As suggested by the name, they tend to be found on triathlon bikes, which tend to have bullhorn or aero handlebars.

An example of cross levers on a bare handlebar.  Taken from Google Image Search.

     The problem stemmed from the fact that Keri's brakes were tough to use; they required more force to pull than she was comfortable with.  Combine that with the fact that her brake pads were more than likely circa 1972 and barely functional, and you have a bike that is less safe than any sensible guy wants his girlfriend to ride.  So our project revolved around getting her better brakes and a better cockpit, or handlebars and controls.

An example of tri levers, installed into the ends of a set of bullhorn handlebars.  Taken from Google Image Search.

     Tri levers were out of the question for us because they tend to be expensive and high-performance, being associated with triathlons.  They also tend to work best with true bullhorn handlebars, not the "ghetto chop 'n flop" that Keri had.  Cross levers would have been a viable option, but there were two reasons that we ended up going with a set of old drop levers that I already owned:  we didn't have to buy them, and it would stay true to the aesthetic of the bike.

     Being a professional bike mechanic, I put a lot of new parts on a lot of bikes, and most of the time I do not put a lot of worry into maintaining any aesthetics.  My job mostly revolves around maintaining and building performance, so that a machine runs the best it can.  But my job, my current job as a mechanic at REI, has me dealing with modern bikes a lot more than my previous one.  I don't much care about how modern bikes look, they are all mass produced in Asia, which is fine, and aesthetically they are all incredibly similar.  Its in older bikes that I feel there there is something aesthetically to maintain.  And the older a bike is, the stronger I feel that is important.  I wasn't going to put a pair of SRAM TT 500 tri levers on a 1972 Motobecane, especially when I'd have to look at it everyday.

The "flop 'n chop" bullhorn bars previously on her bike.  November 7, 2012

     And so we decided to swap out her "chop 'n flop" bullhorn handlebars with a set of true drop bars, and equip her with proper drop levers.  I had a set of Dia-Compe C250G drop levers that I had taken off of one of my bikes.  They were in fine condition, barring slightly worn hoods.  The only other thing we needed were a set of drop bars.

     I have a set of drop bars that I acquired off of some bike... I can't really recall which one now.  But, there was a problem.  Being a Motobecane from the early '70's, the bike was made in France and uses some French standards--sizes that really don't appear elsewhere in the bike world.  The problem here was in the handlebars:  their clamp diameter was 25.0mm.  The "standard" found in most bikes of this style is 25.4mm, indeed the size of my extra pair of bars.  Although it is only 0.4 of a millimeter, it is enough to create an issue.  Even if I were to tighten the clamp bolt as tight as I could, the bars would still be able to slip, and that is not acceptable.  We had two options:  new handlebars, or a new stem.  We could get a new stem, but any modern stems wouldn't have the same aesthetic.  So we turned to eBay to find a size that doesn't exist anymore...

The vintage Motobecane drop bars we secured for Keri from eBay.  November 7, 2012

     A few trips to eBay yielded a terrific find:  a set of vintage Motobecane drop bars in the proper size, for a measly $25!  As we waited for the new bars to arrive, I had one last obstacle to tackle, the brake calipers themselves.  Center-pull dual pivot Weinmann calipers are one of my less favorite brake options out there, due mostly to the moderate difficulty it takes to set them up.  Instead of using the simple pinch-bolt that modern side-pull dual pivot brake calipers use, the older center-pull style uses a "yoke hanger", secured to the brake line, which supports and pulls on a smaller cable attached to the opposite ends of each arm of the brake caliper.  The problem I have with this design is that it is very difficult to adjust, you have to essentially eyeball where to secure the "yoke hanger" and then proceed to use trial and error to find the appropriate position.  With the proper tool--one that Park apparently doesn't make anymore--you can easily hold the calipers shut and it makes the job much easier, but we do not have this tool at work.

Keri's front brake.  Note the "yoke hanger" supporting the cable between the arms of the caliper.  November 7, 2012

     Aside from my disdain for this design, I was also looking for new calipers because I was wanting to someday upgrade Keri's wheel-set into a modern 700c wheel size; she is currently sporting the obsolete 27" size.  700c wheels are slightly smaller than 27" wheels, yet close enough that some brake calipers out there can actually work with either size.  These "long reach" calipers are what I put on my Fuji, because I did the exact same thing.  However, I soon discovered that Tektro doesn't make the calipers I bought anymore.  They still make a product that would work, but they are double the price of the ones I have now, and it is simply out of our price range.  I spent a lot of time trying on different calipers and trying to figure out which ones would work; aside from the reach of the brake arm, I also had to consider that her bike would need the "standard nut" mounting style instead of the "recessed nut" mounting style found on modern road bike frames. Eventually I decided that we would just keep her current brake calipers.  There was nothing wrong with them, and I could put them through the parts cleaner to hopefully shine them up some.  Keeping 27" wheels wasn't a big deal either, and would, once again, maintain the aesthetic.

Left:  the brake calipers before cleaning.  Right:  after cleaning.  Note the different brake pads as well.  November 7, 2012

     The one thing we could do to get definitively better braking power was swapping out the brake pads.  The original pads were old, hard, and had little stopping power left in them.  I ordered her two pairs of Sunlite's Road Brake Pads.  They are a good price for what they are, and they come with an extra pair of replaceable brake shoes.

The new pads are on the left, the old pads on the right.  A huge improvement in such a small yet important part.  November 7, 2012

     Finally, everything was in place to overhaul her bike.  That morning when I went to roll her bike out the door, however, I noticed how sticky and stiff her headset was.  Later that day when I was working on everything, I decided it best to break it open and inspect the cups and races for damage.  If a headset is too tight, the bearings can eventually pit the cups or races, damaging the surfaces in an irreparable way.  In spite of my fear that her headset was damaged, it ended up being in perfect condition, suffering only from old, gummy grease.  I cleaned and repacked everything, and the headset actually turned out perfect.  I think more than anything it shows what quality products will get you:  they're easy to work on and you get a perfect product in the end.  It slides like butter now, a marked improvement.

Left:  the finished headset overhaul.  Right:  various segments of the pre-cleaned  nastiness.  November 7, 2012

     The icing on the cake ended up being the bar tape.  The bike came to us with a slightly dirty yet still vibrant, deep pink tape, wound tightly and thickly.  Wanting to maintain the blue, pink and purple color scheme, we ended up getting her pink Origin-8 Cork Handlebar Tape.  Finally, her bike was finished, and she is very happy with it.

The finished product, in all of its pink glory.  November 28, 2012

     The next project will be giving her gears again, reintroducing a rear derailleur and shifter.  That will not be a huge project, but will require some cash.  Until then, she is happy with her delightfully pink Motobecane.

The awesome head badge.  They don't make them like this anymore.  November 7, 2012