Re-Trying the Moustache Handlebar

Iconic of the Bridgestone XO era and later championed by Rivendell, the Moustache handlebar is perhaps more popular today than ever. The dramatic forward sweep, the sideways-mounted road levers and the bar-end shifters make for a visually distinct and intriguing presence. The design is easiest to understand if you think of it as a flattened out drop bar, with the brake levers installed on what would have been the hooks. Grant Petersen designed the Moustache in the early 1990s specifically for the Bridgestone XO bicycles, as a kind of a hybrid between upright and drop bars. Today several manufacturers produce their own versions (including Soma and Origin8), though likely the Nitto/ Rivendell model remains closest to the original.

I first tried Moustache handlebars three years ago, and I remember being surprised by the leaned-forward position they put me in. Unlike the handlebars you see on city bikes, the Moustache is swept forward, rather than swept back - putting the rider's hands way out there, forward of the stem. Depending on stem length and handlebar height, this can be quite an aggressive lean. Recently I tried the bars again: I've been getting questions about them from readers and wanted to refresh my memory.

Riding with Moustache bars again was fun; my riding style has changed so much since the last time. These bars are unique and remind me of no other handlebars I've ever tried, so it's hard to find a point of reference. The forward sweep is vaguely North-Roadish, with two notable exception: All the hand positions are forward of the stem, and the brake levers are in the forwardmost points of the sweep, rather than in what we are accustomed to thinking of as the gripping areas.

The shape of the handlebars feels pretty good, and I have no trouble squeezing the levers from their location (here is an illustrated guide to the hand positions). However, I find the setup counterintuitive. Squeezing the brake levers puts me in a forward-leaning position, whereas using the bar-end shifters puts me in a leaned-back position: the exact opposite of what I am used to. After all, when I squeeze the brake levers I am trying to reduce speed - and the aggressive posture counteracts that - especially when coming to a complete stop. It was interesting to experience the discrepancy between what my body wanted to do when stopping and what the bars wanted me to do. On my own bikes, I prefer for the brake levers to be in a location that allows my posture to be more relaxed. 

A friend who rides with Moustache bars explains them as a variant of riding with vintage, non-aero drop bars (where you brake mainly from the hooks). He believes those who are used to that will find braking with the Moustache intuitive, whereas the likes of me who mostly brake from the hoods of modern drop bars - or from the edgemost gripping areas of swept-back handlebars - may have trouble with the setup. He could be right. Either way, it's a handsome handlebar that I enjoy seeing on others' bikes. 

Categories: handlebars, product reviews, Rivendell

Thoughts on Bar-End Shifters

When I was getting my first new roadbike in spring 2010, I had it built up with bar-end shifters. This decision was arrived at via a process of elimination. I had ridden a couple of vintage roadbikes before with very limited success and found the classic downtube shifters too challenging. I had also tried to test ride some modern roadbikes and found their combination brake/shifter levers ("brifters") to be so uncomfortable that I had trouble using the brakes. Other cyclists I knew recommended bar-ends - an older style that had grown popular again in recent years. Rivendell - the manufacturer of the road frame I was having built up - was also strongly recommending this setup. And so that is what I went with. 

A bar-end shifter is exactly what it sounds like: a gear-changing lever installed at the end of the handlebar. There are different styles. Some are longer, others are shorter. Some are friction, others are indexed. I have tried a few now on different bikes, and my favourite remains what I went with originally: Silver friction shifters. The length and shape make them easier for me to operate than other models; I get more leverage. I find the friction mode easy and intuitive to use, and I like the control it gives me. If a gear is imperfectly adjusted, I can simply move it a tiny bit manually.  I can also shift multiple gears at a time quite easily. 

The shorter, indexable Shimano bar-ends are another popular choice for this style of shifters. The Co-Habitant uses them on his bikes and loves them. But personally I find them more effortful and less comfortable to use that the Silvers. 

Over the time I rode with bar-end shifters, I was more or less fine with them. I was able to switch gears and I was able to install the brake levers I liked, since they were independent from the shifters. But I did find two things about the shifters less than ideal. One was that they required me to dramatically change my hand position(s) on the bars in order to switch gears. I got better and quicker at this over time, but nonetheless I was never "in love" with the process. The other issue was that when stopped or off the bike the shifters would often poke me and give me bruises. But both of these points seemed relatively minor at the time, and I was not considering a different lever setup.

My switch to combination levers was a product of accidental discovery. I was discussing test riding a Seven roadbike with the staff of the Ride Studio Cafe, and all their demo models were set up with modern brifter-type levers. I told them about my inability to brake using brifters when I attempted to ride other modern roadbikes. Rob Vandermark asked which specific makes and models I'd tried. It had not occurred to me until then that this could make a real difference. I'd tried quite a few, all of them by Shimano and SRAM. Rob looked at the Tektro short reach brake levers on my own bike, and suggested I try Campagnolo; apparently the shape is very similar. And so it was. I test rode a demo bike with Campagnolo ergo shifters and it was as if my brain became integrated with them immediately. I resisted making a rash decision to make the switch on my own bike, but a couple of months later I finally did switch and have not looked back.

So what do I think of bar-end shifters in retrospect... Pretty much the same thing as before. I have no desire to "bash" them or to proclaim the superiority of brifters; it is really a matter of individual preference. I still like bar-ends and I am fine riding a roadbike set up with them. I especially love the friction mode. If given a choice of models, my favourites are the Silvers; they feel great in my hands. I imagine that bar-ends are well suited for those who prefer their shifters to be separate from their brake levers, who wish to have the option of friction shifting, and who have no problems moving their hands to the edges of the drops swiftly and efficiently when they need to change gears. I am sure there are other contexts in which bar-ends are the preferred choice, and those who have things to add on the subject are welcome to chime in. To me, bar-ends will always be associated with my first road cycling experiences, and I retain a fondness for them despite having switched to another system. 

Categories: drop bars, handlebars, roadcycling, shifters

Drop Bar Hand Positions: an Introduction

Riding a roadbike does not come naturally to everyone, and one particular source of frustration is the drop handlebars. I was frustrated by them too when I first started, and so I hope this illustrated introduction might be of some help. To preface, a couple of things to keep in mind: First, drop bars vary in shape. This post assumes that your bike is fitted with the flat ramp style of bars prevalent today - either the compact type found on most stock road/racing bikes, or the more classic style popular with the twine and shellack crowd (i.e. the Nitto Noodle, Grand Bois Maes, Velo Orange Course). I am also assuming that you are using contemporary "aero" style brake levers, with the brake cables hidden. Note that if you are dealing with a 1970s-80s roadbike (i.e. something like this), the shape of the original handlebars and brake levers will make some of the positions described here impossible. Not everyone agrees on which hand positions are best to use at which times, or even on what the positions are called. This write-up reflects my non-expert personal experiences, informed by local mentours.

Whether you are racing, touring or going on a leisurely ride, what makes drop handlebars special is the variety of hand positions they offer. I consider there to be 5 distinct positions available: The hoods, the hooks, the drops, the tops, and the ramps. Read on for a description of each.

1. The Hoods

The "hoods" position refers to keeping your hands on top of the rubbery brake hoods, wrapped around them firmly. I think it is fair to say that today this is widely considered to be the standard, neutral position for riding with drop bars. When done correctly, it is extremely ergonomic, distributes the cyclist's weight nicely, and affords optimal leverage for cycling at different speeds. It is also a position from which the brake levers are easily accessible. Some cyclists report that the hoods make them lean forward too much. If this is the case, consider changing your handlebar setup - perhaps raising the bars, getting a shorter stem, or getting compact handlebars (with less distance between stem and hoods). On a properly fitted bike the hoods should feel easy and natural to reach.

There is a number of ways to hold your hands on the hoods, and this is how I usually do it. The main thing is to actually grip them and not just rest you hands upon them.

There are also different ways to brake from the hoods, and this is how I prefer to do it. Squeezing the brake lever with only two fingers while leaving the rest wrapped around the bars/hoods themselves ensures that my hands won't fly off the handlebars if I go over a bump. 

For those accustomed to upright handlebars, the hoods position on a drop bar bike can feel awkward and disconcerting at first and can require some practice to use comfortably. It took me a couple of weeks before I really "got" the hoods, but once I did it's been true love. It's the position I use the most no matter what kind of riding I do. And if you are planning to take part in formal paceline training rides, chances are they will expect you to use the hoods as the standard position - and may even insist that you do so. 

2. The Hooks

While often the position shown here is referred to as the "drops," there are actually two distinct drops positions. To differentiate between them, this one is more specifically known as "the hooks." It involves holding on to the parts of the bars that curve outward, with the cyclist's hands directly behind the brake levers. It is a more aggressive and aerodynamic position that the hoods, which makes it especially useful when cycling downhill and attempting to fight wind/air resistance.

The brake levers should be easily reachable from the hooks position. Braking in this manner is more powerful than from the hoods, because it affords greater leverage. It is important to be aware of this, so as not to accidentally slam the brakes when riding at high speeds. 

3. The Drops

To differentiate from the hooks, this is what I will call the "true drops" position. To what extent the two positions are distinct really depends on the style of handlebars used. On some types of contemporary drop bars, the curvature here is so dramatic that the positions are very different - the true drops being parallel to the ground and the hooks perpendicular. On other drop bars the curve is less defined and it's hard to tell where the hooks end and the drops begin. Either way, the crucial distinction for me is that you can reach the brakes from the hooks, but not from this lower section of the drops. 

Both the hooks and the lower drops positions are quite aggressive, and for beginners the crouching posture they put you in can feel scary. While at this stage I am more or less fine riding in these positions, even now I am still not as confident as I could be. Riding downhill in close proximity to others, I sometimes chicken out and stay on the hoods, simply bending my elbows a whole lot to get myself low enough over the bars. In a pinch, that tactic will do - but mastering the hooks and drops is ultimately worth it and I continue to work on it. 

4. The Tops

And now, the dreaded tops of the bars... My personal opinion is that the "tops" are bad news for beginners and are to be avoided until after you pick up some road cycling skills. Let me explain: Beginners who cannot use drop bars properly tend to hold their hands on the tops, because this reminds them of mountain bike handlebars and allows them to stay more upright than any of the other positions do. It feels safer. However, this is deeply problematic. First, you cannot reach the brakes from the tops. And if you are too scared to use the other positions, will you really be able to brake quickly and effectively when the situation calls for it? Probably not. Furthermore, drop bars are narrower than mountain bike handlebars, and holding the tops places the rider's hands too close to the stem - not the best position for controlling the bike. Nearly every time I see a beginner on a roadbike lose control of their bicycle, they are holding the tops. 

That said, the tops do have their function. Some find this position helpful for climbing, as it opens up the chest and facilitates deep breathing. Also, when doing a long ride it's great to simply have it as yet another position for your restless hands. Personally, I almost never use the tops even in these circumstances, because my hands are uncomfortable. But not everyone has this issue.

5. The Ramps

Finally, there is the rather difficult-to-photograph position called the "ramps," and I have also heard it referred to as the "shoulders." Located between the hoods and the tops, it involves holding the corners of the top portion of the handlebars. In this position the rider is more upright than on the hoods, while maintaining more control of the bike and a more ergonomic wrist position than they would on the tops. I hold my hands in this manner mostly on long rides, for short stretches at a time, when I want to do something different or be more upright for a bit. 

All these new positions can certainly be overwhelming. As far as a starting point, I suggest learning to use the hoods well first, then transitioning to learning the hooks/drops. If the pictures here are not enough to help you understand the positions and the braking, ask an experienced cyclist to show you in person and imitate them. I did this some time ago, and it was more helpful than any online tutorial I could have read. And for those riding vintage bikes with handlebars like these and having trouble using them, consider updating the bar setup. You cannot use the hoods with that style of handlebars and levers, and I wish someone told me that when I first struggled with vintage roadbikes 3 years ago. 

While drop handlebars are easy and intuitive for some, for others it takes practice to get comfortable with the different positions. My suggestion is to not be intimidated and just keep practicing. If you ask me, it's worth it.

Categories: beginners, handlebars, roadcycling, Soma

Upside Down North Roads

During the VCC Northern Ireland Ride last weekend I had the opportunity to ride several bicycles that were fitted with upside down North Road handlebars - classic swept-back bars mounted upside down in order to achieve a lower hand position. Personally, I love upside-down North Roads. Unlike many other handlebar set-ups designed to achieve an aggressive posture, I've always found them comfortable and intuitive. So it surprised me to learn from others on the ride that this set-up tends to be a "love it or hate it" sort of thing, with many falling firmly into the latter category. 

Apparently, those who do not like the bars report that they make a bike's handling twitchy - almost providing too much leverage for comfort. That intrigues me, because that same feeling of leverage is what makes me feel in control of the bike - able to manipulate it and "place it" as it were exactly as I want.

I also like the ergonomics: My wrists just seem to naturally plop down onto the gripping areas as they do on regularly mounted North Roads, but the low placement of my hands enables a much more aggressive position than on a typical upright bike. It's almost like riding with drop handlebars, except with access to standard brake levers in the drops.

Interestingly though, I noticed that all the upside-down North Roads on the VCC ride were set up with the gripping areas pointing down, whereas in the US I usually see them set up with the gripping areas more or less parallel to the ground. I cannot tell which I find more comfortable.

Setting a bicycle up with upside-down North Roads is the best method I know of achieving an aggressive yet ergonomic hand position without resorting to drop bars. I am curious what your thoughts on them are. 

Categories: comfort, handlebars, vintage

Fiddling with Handlebar Height

I've been riding my fixed gear bike ("Mercy Anne") fairly regularly since we put it together in September. Not long rides, but frequent short rides. Unlike my geared roadbike, I never stopped riding the fixed gear over the winter. And of all my bicycles with drop bars, for whatever reason this one is the most ridable in regular clothing, so if I don't feel like wearing cycling clothes on a short ride I don't have to. I've even ridden it in skirts and semi-high heels a few times; it is surprisingly tame and versatile. 

Maybe it's because of that versatility that I find myself constantly fiddling with this bicycle's handlebar height. It's not that my positioning doesn't feel right, but more like all the positions feel equally right and I can't decide which one to settle on. When we first assembled the bike, I had the stem "slammed" and the bars considerably below the saddle. It felt perfectly comfortable, but over the winter I started riding in the city more and decided to experiment with being more upright. So I raised the bars to saddle height, and that felt great also. Then one day I lowered them again just for the heck of it, and that too felt good. 

Strange that on other bikes I feel a distinct "sweet spot" as far as handlebar height goes and on this one I do not. Not sure how many times I've raised and lowered the bars now thanks to the easy up/down adjustability of the threaded stem, but it's probably time to settle on one position and stop the madness. How do you decide on handlebar height, and do you tend to fiddle with it after the initial set-up?

Categories: fixed gear, handlebars, mercian

Overthinking the Pink

A couple of weeks ago I got the inexplicable urge to redo the handlebars on my Rivendell with pink bar tape. I don't know. One day I was looking at the bike and suddenly felt that the earthtone and twine thing was getting kind of oppressive. The bike wanted to break free. With the streets growing more dreary with each passing day, a burst of colour was sure to break up the monotony. And that it certainly has: Now I feel as if I am riding a bike made of watermelon, or an enormous piece of tourmaline. It's nice and cheerful.

Of course, unlike other cheerful colours, pink is somewhat charged with meaning because of its associations with stereotyped femininity. So I was not entirely surprised to receive an email from a reader eager to discuss my new handlebar tape. She was disappointed that, while my choice in bicycle colours and accessories had hitherto been "the antithesis of girly," now here I was reinforcing the industry stereotype of women wanting pink on their bikes.

Heavy stuff. And as usual I find myself disagreeing and agreeing all at the same time. On the one hand, there is Elly Blue's post about "reclaiming pink." There is also the fact that originally, pink was considered to be a colour for boys. Finally, there is the Maglia Rosa of the Giro d'Italia - shouldn't that association trump the girly one?

On the other hand, I've heard too many women express frustration at the fact that the bicycle industry slaps pink colour schemes and floral motifs on everything that is designed for female cyclists ("shrink it and pink it") - from bike frames, to panniers, to cycling jerseys. I too find this annoying. But having thought about it for a couple of years, I suspect the real frustration here is that women-specific bicycles and products are oftentimes worse in quality than those designed for men. So the pink and flowery stuff, in combination with the inferior quality, is seen as a slap in the face: "Our marketing team believes you care about pretty colours and flowers more than you do about substance, so that is what we are selling you." 

Ultimately, I think that pink is a more versatile colour than we give it credit for, particularly in the context of cycling. It is really all about presentation. I will probably not keep the pink bar tape on this bike in the long run, simply because it overshadows the elaborate lugwork that really deserves the starring role here. But for now I quite like it, stereotyped or not.

What comes to mind when you think of pink bicycles or bike related products - Giro or girly? or something else entirely?

Categories: gender, handlebars, Rivendell, social commentary

Must Haves: Dropbars with Flat Ramps

While dropbars tend to all look the same to those who are new to them, there are in fact lots of variations - most of which I find uncomfortable. This is particularly true of vintage bars, and it does not surprise me when others write to tell me they have trouble riding old roadbikes for this reason. What's uncomfortable about these dropbar designs, is their lack of flat "ramp" areas leading up to the brake hoods. When the brake lever is positioned on a dramatic slope, some report that their hands feel awkward and start to hurt on long rides. By contrast, famously comfortable handlebars - such as the Nitto Noodle and Randonneur models - have spacious, flat ramp areas that support the hands - both when on the hoods and behind the hoods. Rivendell explains about this feature here. And this comprehensive post about the difference in dropbar shape is definitely worth reading. My favourite flat-ramp dropbars so far have been the Grand Bois Maes (pictured above). They are similar to the Nitto Noodles, except that the ramps feel a bit longer and flatter, and the drops are parallel to the ramps. My hands absolutely love the feel of every part of these handlebars.

One thing that has me curious when it comes to the flat ramp design, is its origin. Until recently, my understanding was that it was a modern invention: a byproduct of the compact/ anatomic handlebars ushered in by the brifter era. It is often said that the Nitto Noodles basically combine this modern design with a vintage look, which is what makes them so popular. However, that does not jive with the description of the Grand Bois Maes bars as a remake of a 1950s Phillips Professionel model. Turns out that what many think of as a modern design is actually a mid-century design, which is rather fascinating. I would love to know the original inspiration behind this shape and why it was not more popular. After all, it is very difficult to find a set of vintage dropbars with flat ramps.

What has been your experience with drop handlebars? Can you tell the difference between the various shapes and do you have a favourite?

Categories: handlebars, Randonneur, Seven

GB Components Are Back! ...And You Can Have Their Cycling Cap

One of the things I was truly excited to see at Interbike was the GB display. GB Components (the initials stand for the founder Gerry Burgess) are known to vintage bicycle lovers, particularly the handlebars. Well, the company is now re-establishing itself under the ownership of the original founder's son (Jeremy Burgess), and the prototypes of their new, made in the UK components were modestly on display.

These include a gorgeous lugged stem (both quill and threadless models),

sculptural-looking wingnuts, handlebars, and other components. I have more photos that I will include in my big Interbike write-up, but these should give you an idea of their beauty. I spoke with the GB representative for a while, and may get to review some of the components as they go into production - will keep you posted.

In the meantime, I would like to give you their cycling cap. These were being given away as promotional items at Interbike, and they are rather nice.

The cap is white summer-weight cotton, with a single black ribbon stripe and an embroidered GB logo on the underside of the visor. The crown is rounded. The size is what I would call a Medium.

I have exactly one of these to give away. Leave a comment saying you want it, and I will select the recipient at random. Deadline is Sunday, 18th September, 11:59 pm US Pacific time (which is also the deadline for the Touring Bike entries!) Thanks as always for reading, and enjoy your weekend!

Categories: bicycle industry, clothing, give-away, handlebars, Interbike

Junk Miles: Not an Insult

Since having gotten into roadcycling, I find myself in the hilarious position where both "roadies" and "non-roadies" will ask me questions about the imagined other, as if I can provide inside information. Of course the dichotomy is mostly a false one, but that hardly matters. I get questions such as "So why do roadies ___ when they ___?" or "So when people ride bikes to work, how in the world do they ____?" Half the time I don't even know what the person means, but it's always entertaining. It also shows our readiness to think in terms of ingroup/outgroup - attributing exotic, irrational tendencies to the outgroup while perceiving the ingroup as entirely normal. 

Anyhow, the latest conversation I had in this context was about "junk miles." Before I even knew what that term meant, I'd noticed that transportation cyclists find it offensive - perceiving it as a derogatory expression used by roadcyclists to be dismissive of any other type of riding. In keeping with this, last week someone asked me: "So when you go to the grocery store, do you now think of it as junk miles?" - the idea being that the person assumed roadies do not consider that sort of thing to be "real" cycling, hence junk miles or wasted time on a bike. 

All right. So allow me to attempt to explain "junk miles" as I now understand it from a roadcycling perspective, because the term appears to be widely misunderstood. Transportation cycling is not junk miles. A fun ride with friends at a leisurely pace is not junk miles. Relaxed touring is not junk miles. Nothing you do outside the realm of cycling as a sport is junk miles, because the term simply does not apply to you.

But let's say you are a roadcyclist who is training for a race. This means that you want to improve your performance, to become faster. In order to train effectively for this purpose, it is generally suggested that you alternate training rides that are super-difficult with rides that are easy. The super-difficult rides will push you beyond your current abilities and the easy rides will allow you to recover. What you don't want to do too much of are rides that are in between. Those types of rides are called "junk miles," because they don't help you get faster, but they don't allow you to recover either. That's it; that is what the term means. It is used exclusively within the context of roadcycling, and with the assumption that the person is an athlete, intentionally engaging in goal-oriented training. The term does not refer to other forms of cycling. 

I am not sure how the misunderstanding originated that "junk miles" is an insult to transportation or leisurely cyclists, but it is exactly that: a misunderstanding. 

Categories: handlebars, roadcycling

Shifter Placement on a Mixte: an Aesthetic and Functional Challenge

I've been asked to describe how the shifters are set up on my mixte, but I hesitate to write about it, because I don't necessarily recommend this method. My handlebar setup consists of inverse brake levers, elk hide grips covering the entire handlebar, and bar-end friction shifters mounted upon "thumbies" up toward the front. The rationale here was to leave as much of the handlebar area uninterrupted as possible, allowing for a variety of hand positions. It works nicely in that context, but it is not for everyone - which brings me to the issue so many have written to me about: There seem to be few options for mounting gear shifters on a mixte with upright handlebars that are both elegant and convenient. Personally, I find my own setup not entirely elegant: Too many cables up front. And it's not entirely convenient either: The levers can only be reached when the hands are in the aggressive forward position on the bars. But what other possibilities are there?

One alternative is to move the shifters closer to the edges of the handlebars, so that they are near the brake levers. This placement is more convenient if that is the position where you tend to hold your hands the most, and since I've been using my own mixte more and more as a city bike I am considering switching to something like this. The problem, however, is that placing the shifters here interrupts the handlebars and limits potential hand positions: It will not be possible to slide my hands back and forth along the bars the way it's possible on my current mixte set-up. Also, it's essential to get the angle of the shifters just right, and doing so does not always result in attractive placement. Finally, both with my current set-up and with the set-up pictured above, there is something messy-looking to my eye in having so many cables sprouting from the handlebars. I have not been able to find a way to make handlebar-mounted shifters look attractive.

A potential way to clean up the handlebar setup from the "messy cables" look while keeping the shifters within reach is to opt for bar-ends. I tried this prior to my current setup, but quickly discovered that this works well only with the wide Nitto Albatross bars used by Rivendell, and ideally on a bike with a long virtual top tube and/or with the handlebars raised high. Otherwise, you may discover that the bar-end shifters will poke you in the knees to the point where it could interfere with pedaling on turns. That is exactly what happened when I tried them on my small sized mixte with narrow Porteur bars.

If none of these methods appeal to you, you can go the vintage route - one possibility being to mount the shifters on the stem. However, generally this is not recommended for a number of reasons. Some claim that mounting the shifters in this spot is dangerous, because they could potentially "impale" you if you fall forward on your bike. To me this seems rather far-fetched: After all, it's common to have bruises on your thighs from bumping into bar-end shifters, yet no one claims they are dangerous. I think the real reason stem shifters are disliked is that they are considered to be a symbol of lower-end bikes: In the '70s, stem shifters meant that a bike was marketed for amateurs who held their hands mostly on top of the handlebars and were unable to reach downtube shifters.

But while downtube shifters offer elegance and simplicity, removing the second set of cables from the handlebars entirely, most cyclists who are looking for an upright mixte find them difficult to use. In order to shift gears, you have to remove you hand from the handlebars are reach quite a ways down. Particularly if you are sitting upright, this is inconvenient - not to mention beyond the skill level of some cyclists.

As far as aesthetics go, a mixte frame is a challenge to set up, because the twin lateral stays already add a degree of visual complexity to the looks. If you add a cluttered handlebar set-up to that, it can get pretty messy. In vintage photos and in handmade bicycle shows, the cleanest looking mixtes tend to be set up either as single speeds, with hub gearing, or with single chinrings - ensuring that there is, at most, only one shifter to deal with. But in practice, most mixtes today are set up with derailleur gearing and either double or triple chainrings - presenting an aesthetic and functional challenge. 

While I cannot offer a solution that would suit everyone's tastes, I wanted to share the methods I know of and the pros and cons of each, as I see them. How have you set up the shifters on your mixte, and are you happy with them in terms of user-friendliness and looks?

Categories: comfort, handlebars, mixte

Adjustable Stem!

When I wrote about wanting a longer stem on one of my bikes, several people suggested I get ahold of a vintage adjustable stem. I did not know that such a thing existed, but clearly there is much I don't know.

Long story short, I am now in the temporary possession of a 3ttt Record Regolabile adjustable stem, on loan courtesy of Jan Heine of the Bicycle Quarterly. I decided to use it not on my own bike, but on the Royal H. randonneur collaboration - it just looked so appropriate.

Produced in the 1970s by Tecno Tubo Torino of Italy, this elegant stem adjusts from (I think) 6 cm to 12 cm. Here is more information about it and some close-up pictures. The beauty of this system is that it combines the vertical adjustability of the quill stem with the horizontal adjustability of the threadless stem (with the latter you can swap out stems without redoing your handlebar set-up). Why are things like this not being made anymore? Those of us who constantly change our minds about handlebar positions would find it extremely useful. Right now I have it adjusted for 8 cm, but who knows what the future holds - I am looking forward to playing around with this! 

Categories: comfort, handlebars, Randonneur, Royal H, vintage

Fizik Microtex Handlebar Tape

Last week we replaced the cloth tape on the Co-Habitant's Surly with Fizik Microtec tape. He wanted something that would not get dirty, did not require shellacking, and was not as heavily padded as cork tape. I've been using this tape in red for the past several weeks, so I suggested he try it. We both purchased it at Harris Cyclery, but it's available in many bike shops.

Fizik Microtec bar tape is a synthetic tape with about half the padding of typical cork tape. The perforated surface is smooth, but not slippery. It lies down flat, the edges resist fraying, and the surface stays clean. I know some complain that cloth and cork tape tend to get dirty and frayed, so if you want a bright handlebar tape that is durable and retains its colour, this could be it. Mine looks and feels the same after 300+ miles of sweaty gripping as it did when first installed. But more importantly, this tape could work for those who find cork tape too soft and cloth tape too hard - it is sort of the happy medium.

Although visually the perforations resemble leather tape, there are no tactile similarities. The Fizik tape is stiffer than leather, and it feels distinctly synthetic to the touch. While I would not describe the surface as slick, I can see how some might find it too smooth - especially if riding without gloves. My preferred handlebar wrap is cloth tape, but on some handlebars - particularly on modern ones that have channels for cables - I feel that I need more padding. The Fizik Microtex tape is durable, easy to wrap, provides just enough padding, and is available in a variety of colours.

Categories: grips, handlebars, product reviews