Further to yesterday’s post, one question you definitely didn’t have was, “What shoes were you wearing?” Well, here’s the answer anyway:
Those of course are the vintage Specialized shoes of which I recently took delivery, and in the spirit of reviewing stuff nobody’s interested in I’ll apprise you of how they’re performing:
While Specialized clearly made them for mountain biking, I’ve ridden used them a couple times now on the Cervino, and they do work well with classic road pedals–as a bonus they’re also warmer than regular road shoes, and you can walk in them. My ride on the Homer was my first time using them with flat pedals, and…for that they’re not great:
That’s because they were clearly meant for a traditional pedal with a cage, not a platform with pins:
I mean they were far from terrible, and the stiffness of the sole was an improvement over sneakers, but the busy tread really didn’t know where it wanted to be on all that stuff and so it kind of floated around on the pedal a bit more than was ideal.
They do go well with the bike, though, and that’s what’s most important.
Speaking of the Cervino, now that everything adjusted and working just right I’ve really come to love it:
The appeal is equal parts the actual ride of the bike and the fact that–apart from the decals of course–it’s a quintessential classic Italian road bike.
When I get a bike from Classic Cycle I don’t worry about the details; I just start riding it and then I learn about it as I go along. One of those details I never worry about is the size. Obviously when you buy a bike that’s the first thing you check, and you fuss over top tube length and stem length and crank length and all the rest of it, but when the bike is just coming over for a visit there’s no need to worry about a centimeter or two here or there–plus Paul’s a pro who can size you for a bike just by looking at you, so if he sends me one I know it’s going to work for me anyway.
Sometimes when I get a bike from Classic Cycle it’s a little smaller than what I usually ride, sometimes it’s more or less the same, and sometimes it’s a little bigger. Obviously the best part of getting to ride lots of different bikes is, well, getting to ride lots of different bikes. Different eras, different materials, different components… But another great thing is getting to try bikes in slightly different sizes. It’s easy to get locked in when it comes to bike size, because once something works you don’t want to mess with it. But it’s a whole other story when the bikes just show up on your doorstep already assembled. For example, while the Kestrel had a taller headtube than what I’d usually go for on a road bike, that’s probably one of the reasons I ended up liking it so much:
30 years ago I had a position on the bike and I’ve been stuck in it ever since. Sure, it was great for trying to hang onto the wheel ahead of me in races, but it turns out maybe my sizing needs have changed a little bit since then, go figure.
The Cervino has a slightly taller head tube even than the Kestrel, though top tube length is more or less the same (and both are pretty much what I’ve always ridden anyway), and overall I feel very good on the bike. According to the underside of the bottom bracket, the bike is a 58cm; I usually ride a 56cm. (Obviously frame size is reductive since it’s based on only one measurement and even that is measured differently by different makers.) There’s not much room to spare between crotch and top tube when I’m straddling the bike, but on a road bike standover’s probably the least important metric of all, and as long as you can do so without hurting your “pants yabbies” that’s all that matters. When you’re racing, the common wisdom with road bikes is to “size down,” which makes sense when you’re riding in a tight pack. But when you’re getting old, I’m learning it’s probably better to size up.
Obviously a bike should fit you, but fit can be subjective, and ultimately the bike’s numerical size is really just a rough guideline. It’s like those letter indentations they used to have in the pages of big reference books:
Sure, they’ll get you in the ballpark, but the rest is up to you.
Nevertheless, people on the Internet love to bicker about bike sizing and declare who should be riding what. (Have you ever seen someone on an Internet forum critique a successful pro’s bike fit? Of course you have.) So while I was thinking about classic bikes and sizing, I decided to revisit contemporary bike size philosophy. For example, Jobst Brandt agrees that worrying about standover is for “woosies:”
Next I picked up the copy of “Greg LeMond’s Complete Book of Bicycling,” which I received from Paul some time ago and of course keep my my bedside, and turned to the fit section:
I’d be lying if I said I’ve read the whole book, or even most of it, but from what I have read he does a lot of pointing and laughing at hapless cyclists:
Most American cyclists tend to set up incorrectly on their bicycle. The traditional approach of placing your heel on the back of the pedals results in a low seat; other riders are too high on their saddle because they have not carefully established their saddle height. This is unfortunate, because position is by far the most important single factor in determining how your bicycle will perform. I always laugh when I see people riding two-thousand-dollar high-performance Italian bikes that are way too big. They seem to think that all the light equipment and the tight angles will give them better performance; the truth is that the best machine in the world is not going to do them one bit of good if it doesn’t fit correctly.
Hey Greg, I don’t see what’s so funny about Americans on Italian road bikes:
Okay, maybe I do.
Anyway, Greg says bikes are like running shoes and ice skates:
Remember, the bicycle is not just an inert machine, but a synergetic link that must meld perfectly to your body to work well. It’s like a pair of ice skates or running shoes. If it’s too big or if it’s too small it just won’t perform.
He then explains how Cyrille Guimard dialed in his bike fit for him, and shows you how to get your frame size by measuring your inseam:
For this measurement, the book will act as your saddle. Face the wall, place the book between your legs, and apply enough pressure to simulate riding-without pushing too hard. The front and back covers should be perpendicular to the ground. Once you’re satisfied with the position, mark the line along the top edge of the book on the wall. Take a ruler and measure the line from the mark to the floor. This is your inseam. My inseam is exactly 84.3 centimeters (I prefer to work in centimeters because it’s easier to get more accurate measurements). If you don’t have any way of measuring in centimeters, see the metric conversion table in Appendix A.
To determine your correct frame size, take your inseam measurements and relate it to the chart in Appendix B. In my case, that gives me a frame size of 54.8 centimeters (or 21.5 inches). If you’re measuring yourself in centimeters but need a frame size in inches, refer to the metric conversion table in Appendix A.
How was this formula arrived at? This is a figure that was determined by Wilfried Hüggi, a Swiss engineer. Hüggi tested a large number of cyclists to determine a formula that would achieve the minimum possible frame height and length for a cyclist without bunching up the body or leaving the rider dangerously perched on an overextended seat post. After testing various mathematical formulas, he concluded that the optimal formula for frame size was inseam measurement multiplied by .65. Although you should take all measurements exactly, this formula isn’t designed to give you a precise figure down to a third decimal point. However, frame sizes don’t vary by thousandths or hundredths of an inch either, and the formula fulfills its function very well.
He also says that if your bike fits you well the amount of seatpost you have showing will be approximately equal to the length of your top tube between the bottom of the top tube and the top of the downtube:
When I say “inside length of the head tube,” what I mean is the portion of the head tube extending between the bottom of the joint with the top tube and the top of the joint with the down tube. If your bicycle is small, you don’t want seven inches of seat post showing. Conversely, if your bike is big, you want a lot more than an inch or two of seat post showing. That’s why the length of the head tube provides a good rule of thumb, because it gets bigger as the bike gets bigger. Of course, it’s only a rough measure, as some bikes may have smaller head tubes than others in the same frame size, depending on the design. And if you have a very large frame, you don’t want as much seat post showing as with a very long head tube. But this rule of thumb should help you get the right bike if you have an unusually proportioned body and you decide not to get a custom bike.
Then he laughs at more people, like Sean Kelly:
And tells you how much better his position is than everyone else’s:
I’m not sure he’s at the same point in his pedal stroke there, Greg.
In any case, obviously he had strong opinions about bike sizing, and if you’ve been riding awhile you no doubt remember the idea of the “LeMond fit,” which meant a longer top tube and I believe a not-too-steep seat tube angle. In fact back when Trek used to sell a LeMond-branded OCLV bike they were exactly the same frames, only Trek would use different size numbers for the LeMonds:
An OCLV by any other size would be…well, the same size OCLV.
Another person who has a lot of insight into bike fit (and bikes in general) is Dave Moulton. One thing people like to say about bike sizing is that two people can be the same height yet have different proportions, so they shouldn’t necessarily ride the same size bike. Moulton disagrees, and says it’s all basically a wash:
And while modern bike sizing gets all science-y with lasers and stuff, I’ve always been partial to old-fashioned rules of thumb, so I appreciated this one:
Here’s how it works:
Then of course there’s the Rivendell PBH method, which is essentially the same as LeMond’s inseam method:
Pick a frame, measure your PBH, find your size on the chart, and pick a bar shape, done and done.
When I got my first real road bike the shop took a look at me, told me what size I should be riding, and that was that. After that it was just ride and adjust, ride and adjust until it felt right, bike after bike, year after year. In all my years of riding, the closest I’ve come to getting a real bike fit was when I ordered my Engin, since it was made to measure, but even then he just looked at me on what I was already riding and went from there. Greg LeMond says when Guimard raised his saddle it transformed his riding, and it can be both tempting and unsettling to think that we’re all unwittingly just one more tweak away from taking our riding to another level, and that maybe there’s someone out there who can unlock it for us. And then there are the discoveries you make by accident–like that a bike can feel good even when it’s labeled size is not in comportment with the fit calculators.
Like everything else with bikes, fitting them is both science and folklore.