After going on sort of a Jobst Brandt mini-binge recently I decided to ride the most un-Jobstian bike I could get my hands on:
That is of course the plastic pro cyclocross bike I recently received from Classic Cycle:
The reason I chose this bike wasn’t to wash the taste of steel out of my mouth or anything like that; rather, it was because I wanted to understand why I generally prefer more “conservative” bikes and equipment over the more modern stuff, and why I’m predisposed to curmudgeonliness in the first place. Yes, generally stuff like steel frames and higher spoke-count wheels are more robust–or at least they’re perceived to be–but I’m not a 6’5″ Teutonic freak, and I can generally get away with riding lightweight stuff. Also, any bike made for a pro racer is going to hold up to my “abuse.”
However, there’s really no reason for me to use lightweight stuff. I’m not racing anymore, so the only time the weight of the bike matters is when I’m carrying it up the stairs to the sacrificial altar in order to take pictures of it:
I suppose it’s that I see the more traditional bikes as being not only more durable, but also somehow “purer”–as though one human-powered machine can somehow be purer than another. Is there a difference between some middle-aged bike blogger who’s incapable of pushing his bikes to their structural limits being attracted to “purity” and all the non-racers out there riding plastic bikes with battery-powered shifters designed for speeds these riders are unable to attain? Not really. Of course there are people who truly benefit from one or the other: the Jobst Brandts from the former, and the elite racers from the latter But I think if a lot of us are totally honest, we could probably get away with either one, and sometimes what we ultimately choose to use reflects our ideals and the image we’d like to project more than it does our actual needs.
And let’s not forget that developments in race bikes can ultimately benefit the rest of us. Jobst Brandt observed that this process has happened more haphazardly in cycling than in the automotive world:
But if it wasn’t for racing we wouldn’t have derailleurs, or aluminum rims, or quick release axles, or all sorts of stuff. Of course a lot of the stuff we have thanks to racing is also now disappearing because of racing (see: aluminum rims, quick release axles), but while it’s tempting to thing the process of technological evolution is somehow more insidious now than it once was, I’m not sure it’s reasonable to believe this is the case. That’s not to say many aspects of technological evolution aren’t driven my marketing, gimmickry, and avarice, but it is to say that this is nothing new. The stuff we make may change, but human nature and the laws of physics don’t, so the way it changes is predictable in that respect.
Anyway, how could I possibly take myself seriously as a “purist” when I have so many bicycles? Jobst Brandt had one bike. That’s purity. I convince myself I need all these bikes because, “What if it rains that day?,” or “What if I need to carry something?,” or “What if I need to lock it up outside?” I have at least five bikes that could easily be my only bike, so I should just admit I’m a cycling materialist and love to revel in all the trappings, the occasional featherweight race bike included.
There sure is a lot in the cycling world to agitate the “monkey mind” though, and those of us who are delusional enough to fancy ourselves purists are no doubt attracted to people like Brandt because they appear to have successfully risen above it. Here’s an almost-random survey of cycling media headlines:
This is like asking if the ideal sunset exits.
This is an insane number. There are not 50 people worth listening to in the entire world on any subject.
No, it can’t. You need a more expensive bike with more travel, and I bet the person who attempted this is now dead.
Spoiler alert: the story does not reach a meaningful conclusion.
Oh fuck off.
Oh double fuck off.
Yeah, sure it is. Not gonna name names, but the person who wrote this is completely full of it.