Lighter bikes: the basics

It is all right to wish for a bike much lighter than what we have. It is a never ending quest, occasionally verging on the futile, but an entirely rational and justified one: we want to make our daily source of pleasure and transportation as efficient as possible. A light bike is more agile than a heavy one and makes it easier to negotiate the hills—an undeniable fact of life in San Francisco—without heavy breathing. What is wrong with that?

The new Storck Fascenario 0.6 frame is rumored to weigh
less than 600 grams. To save weight, the brakes are 
integrated into the frame. Photo © VeloNews.

But can we go too far in our pursuit? How far is too far? I was pondering these questions this morning, when I was looking at the photos of a sub-6 lbs. complete road bike, shown at Interbike, the North-American trade show that was held in Las Vegas this past week. It was a special build by a renowned Arizona retailer. It is made of carbon fiber with the sole exception of the pedals. Many of its components are one of a kind, custom made for this project by German carbon wizards. The wheels alone are so light and expensive that they will not make into production. Its price tag? Let’s say it competes for attention with the sports cars made by a well known German company. Would I ride this bike or just look at it behind glass?

Professional cyclists would probably scoff at the very idea of making a racing bike lighter than it is, and they would have a point. If they worried about a few miles uphill, when a race usually includes heart-stopping climbs over far more than one hundred miles, they’d probably deduce they should quit their day job. Besides, a race bike should weigh no less than 15 lbs, according to the international race regulations. We common mortals, on the other hand, can use some technological assistance, provided that we don’t weaken the structural integrity of either the bicycle or our wallets in our quest.

If we are considering buying a bike, a light bike, that is, but set a limit to our buying spree, we should think carefully about what our needs are. First, we must consider the bike frame. Most frames, these days, are made of carbon fiber that has been first impregnated with resin and then baked in an oven under vacuum. This combination makes it the lightest material so far available for bikes. It’s a good starting point.

A monocoque frame, such as this BikeNüt Umlaut, is inherently stiffer, lighter,
and less prone to failure than a frame made of several tubes bonded together,
no matter how skillfully.

How does a bike frame work? A bicycle frame consists of a truss, a type of simple but effective structure with which engineers and architects are very familiar. Trusses are made of triangular modules assembled in various configurations. In the case of a bicycle, two modules, or triangles, share a common element, the seat tube. In all trusses the linear elements, the tubes, work either in compression or in tension and exert tremendous strain on the vertices of the triangles, also called nodes. This is the reason why, if the nodes are stiff and the elements don’t move, the rider can communicate all of the leg power to the pedals.

The bottom-bracket area, where several tubes are attached. This node is put to
the test whenever we pedal. It's important that it is stiff, that it doesn't move or twist.
Through this tunnel we insert the axle connecting the two sides of a crankset.

A fast rider will generate a lot of torque in particular on the front and the bottom nodes. Carbon  makes it possible  to strengthen them not by adding material but by enlarging the diameter of the connecting tubes and orientating appropriately the fibers of the carbon layers. Newly designed frames show just how thick these areas can be.

A sealed cartridge component ready to be installed. The cups containing the
roller bearings stick out from the frame, adding to the overall weight.

In the case of the bottom bracket, this trend has given origin to the so-called BB 30, a standard than is taking an increasingly enthusiastic foothold on the industry.  Of course, BB is an acronym for Bottom Bracket, and 30 indicates the size of the axle connecting the two sides of the crankset through the frame—30 mm. in diameter.

These are the few components required for the assembly of a BB 30.
The bearings are contained in the sealed cartridges in the foreground.
They are contained within the frame.

There is a weight advantage associated with a BB 30, a simpler mechanism, consisting of fewer parts than a more conventional bottom bracket. For example SRAM, a manufacturer that offers cranksets in several configurations, indicates that the newer BB 30 Red crankset is 20 percent lighter than their previous models. That’s a savings of 130 grams. We’ll have a more thorough discussion about cranksets in one of the future entries in this on-going series about light bikes.

The length of the connecting tubes is critical in determining the riding quality of a bicycle. It all gets swept under the general category of frame geometry. I have leaned a few rules of thumb about frame geometry: a shorter wheelbase makes a bicycle more responsive, quicker in descents and in cornering, and the feeling of riding one is that, well, it is quick. A longer wheelbase is good for a leisurely ride, comfortable and a bit sluggish, while chatting with friends and enjoying the views.

The fork is a crucial element in the geometry of a bicycle. There are many after-market forks out there that are much lighter than those provided by manufacturers with their bicycles, but we should be cautious in considering an alternative to them.

The Scapula fork, by THM Carbones. Simple and elegant in shape, this is one
of the lightest after-market forks available today. Photo © THM Carbones.

One of the lightest available is made by THM Carbones, the supplier of forks to Marcus Storck, who produces some of the lightest and stiffest frames available to consumers. Their fork is called Scapula—it weighs a mere 235 grams. All of their components take their names from human bones. To adopt a new fork, such as the Scapula, however lighter, than the one that comes with the bike, is to change the geometry and the riding characteristics of the bike. The weight savings would be a little more than 100 grams, but the bike will behave like a strange animal. Is it worth it?

What if you don’t want to buy a new carbon frame and are emotionally attached to your old steel frame? Is it possible to change a few components here and there and make it lighter and even more enjoyable? Of course. I’ll discuss some options in the next installment in this series.

BikeNüt: the brand

Any marketing expert will tell you that a brand consists of much more than a logo or a website. A company’s brand has a lot more to do with its fundamental nature—the beliefs, habits, and goals of its people—than its surface. But the success, or not, of a company depends in large part on the emotions it evokes from its customers. Are its customers loyal to it? Is their experience with their product memorable?

What are the BikeNüt values, what is it that makes it a valuable and unique service provider for cyclists? What is it that resonates with its customers and makes them return over and over for bikes, bike components, maintenance, or simply for a chat?

During one of my early visits, when I was just falling in love with bikes but knew little about them, Kevin, without even knowing whether I would become a customer or not, gave me an hour of his time to begin my education about carbon frames. He explained to me the technological state of the art; he compared different manufacturers and their products; and he described what components were available and, perhaps more importantly, advisable. 

I left with lots of excitement about bikes. I did my research, discovered a few things about bikes on my own, and confirmed that what Kevin had told me was accurate. Kevin had established a connection based on trust with a potential customer. When I could contain myself no longer, I returned to BikeNüt to make my purchase. Where else would I go?

This openness and willingness to select what is right for customers rather than steering them to the most expensive products, is at the core of the BikeNüt brand. They only sell what they believe in. I can see it in their eyes: there is none of the usual detachment, the slightly glazed look that announces that they are just doing their job, the protective distance that establishes that they are employees and you are a civilian. I hear them enthusiastically describing a bike frame or a piece of equipment. I also listen to them talking to other customers, describing options available for their bikes, based on their connections with manufacturers, options that are usually not available to the public. They are eager to experiment, and finding like minded customers makes their day. These are emotions that cannot be faked, and certainly not day after day in the shop.

This is one of the first Umlauts. It comes in all kinds of configurations,
from the handlebar to the wheels, and, of course, the saddle.

BikeNüt has developed its brand in a new, exciting direction, by producing the Umlaut, their first bike. The name, of course, comes from the umlaut in the BikeNüt name. This is actually a carbon-fiber frame that can be completely customized. There is no set package of components to go with it. Pretty much everything, from the frame color to the wheels, can be decided by the customer. Every bike that comes out of BikeNüt is a special build.

We know that all top brands charge a premium because their name is on the bike frame or on the components. This is why their graphics are not very subtle, plastering the company’s logo all over the place. Perhaps I’m the only one thinking this, but I wish they did a better job.

Actually, not all frames are quite equal. Some, to remain nameless,
try to sell you a frame that has the appearance of a monocoque, when
in reality it is made of tubes glued together.
We can see the seat tube from the opening.

Do they have much reason for their premium price?

Ten years ago, a bicycle manufacturer could get a lot of mileage (pun intended) based on their superior carbon-fiber technology, how separate tubes could be lugged together to form a relatively rigid frame, how a carbon frame could be lighter than an aluminum frame. Monocoque frames, made of fewer parts, more durable and more efficient, eliminated all of these advantages. Technology advanced even more by orienting fiber to make bikes even stiffer in some areas and more forgiving and comfortable in other areas of the frame.

And now? Well, they’ve all caught on, offering more or less the same advantages.

This is the frame: simple, elegant, with a geometry that is almost traditional.
It is as light as a feather and stronger than steel.

The Umlaut is a monocoque frame, built in Asia with the latest technology. It is well made: try inserting your finger into the seat tube and feel the inner smoothness and the complete absence of loose fibers. The Umlaut is light and is extremely rigid in the right places. It has a fork made exactly of the same fibers as the frame, to maintain the same riding characteristics throughout the bike. 

This particular frame shows a threaded bottom bracket.

It comes with two types of bottom brackets, a threaded model and a BB 30. Thus, it can accommodate all of the gruppos available today, from a Shimano workhorse such as the 105 to the top of the line DuraAce, or SRAM Red, or whatever. The frame is worth of all the extras.

So, what makes the Umlaut different from the other top brands?

What about its value?

Based on the bottom line, there is virtually no competition: an Umlaut, equipped with a complete Shimano Ultegra package and Shimano wheels, can be purchased for $2,500 USD, about $1,000 USD less than the nearest competitor.

Based on the performance, BikeNüt has received terrific feedback: the bike is stiff, ready to accelerate, handles exceedingly well, and is comfortable to ride on long distances.

And based on the service? Well, the same customers keep coming back, to try new things, or to talk to the people at BikeNüt.

Lightness

Contrary to appearances, bicycles are complex devices. They consist of many parts; each of these parts is made of different materials; each of those materials has different properties; each of those properties may make those parts suited a specific purpose; each of these parts may be made in different shapes. I could continue in this fashion, but you get the drift: it would take a rocket scientist, staring at a wall choked full of scribbled equations, to make sense of all of these variables.

Thankfully, we choose the bike we like without a thought to the rest. It’s only after riding the excellent machine for a while that it dawns on us that the ride could be smoother, the handling crisper, the frame lighter, the saddle a bit narrower in a certain place, the wheels less bouncy, the handlebar higher, a long ride a little more comfortable or far too comfortable for the suffering that is supposed to go along with racing. It takes some experience to recognize that the pain we thought was spread throughout the body actually resided in the head.

We, the riders, are the biggest variable of all. We are never satisfied with what we have, but we take great pleasure in our dissatisfaction.

The pursuit of a light road bicycle, for example, including our endless experimentation with the bike we have to make it lighter, is one of those never-ending quests that are part of bicycling lore. Bike discussion groups are full of talk about light bikes or light bike parts. There is usually a separate discussion thread entitled grammomania, or something like it, that is entirely devoted to such thought.

Why should anybody with a grain of salt be interested in making a bike lighter than it is? The answer is simple: a light bike, especially a light high performance bicycle, is a more efficient machine than a heavy one. It requires less effort, handles better, or gives a better feedback during fast descents. Yet, the solution to transform our bike into a lighter machine is, as with anything related to cycling, anything but simple.

This is a subject that is of great interest to me—I am far from immune from the maniacal pursuit of the elusive light bike. How should we go about making our own bike lighter?

First, a disclaimer: I know perfectly well that some builders out there have assembled extremely light bikes. These are fascinating projects: after seeking the most esoteric components and prototypes, or even designing and manufacturing their own, they have reduced the weight of fully viable bicycles to less than 8 lbs. Some have gone even further, breaking the 5-lbs. barrier. I am sure that with the learning accumulated through these valiant efforts, such records will become commonplace in a few years.

For most of us, however, going to such lengths is out of the question. We lack the endurance, the engineering background, or the resources to talk bicycle manufacturers into providing us with one-off components. Such prototypes are just that, something that is well conceived but still untested. Would it survive the use and abuse we subject our bikes on a daily basis? Does it make sense to invest so much money and effort to shave a couple of grams off something that is already feather light? Would we be able to notice the difference?

My interest is more mundane: during the next few weeks, I would like to find out how we can put together a very light bike, within reason, with what is available at the BikeNüt store.

Friends on bicycles

Usually, I ride alone. It’s not that I don’t like the company of others—I do—but I like riding at my own pace and stopping for a view here and there. Sometimes, however, I ride with other people, but it would seem excessive to describe these as “group rides.”

One of my most frequent companions has been my friend Jean Claude. About three years ago, he inspired me to get on  a bike again, after decades of neglect. He’s stretched the variety of my rides, taking me to places I didn’t know, along country lanes in the South Bay. He’s also made me climb Mount Hamilton, possibly the longest uphill ride in this part of the world. But J.C., as I call him, was recently in a bike accident and now goes out a little less frequently than he used to. I miss him not only because of the gratitude I feel for getting me to love bikes again but also because of the conversations we had while riding.

Good conversation is also central to my rides with Menghesha, another friend. Strictly speaking, these are not even rides, as he jogs and I ride along at 3.5 miles an hour, usually in Golden Gate Park. It’s good that we are not moving very fast, because we tend to discuss everything that goes on in the news and in politics. The problems we face in today’s world are so difficult, that their solutions require all of our attention. As it is, other cyclists, joggers, and young mothers with baby carriers manage to avoid us while rushing past on the bike lane.

Occasionally, I come across other friendly riders. Once, for example, another rider waved at me while dashing by. I waved back. Unfortunately, I had bought my road bike only a couple of months before, and my bike-handling skills were limited. The end result of that little gesture was a crash. The other rider saw my accident and stopped, while I recovered enough to stand on my feet, torn clothes and all. I thought I tested his patience, but he felt that it was his duty to another human being. There are still people like that. We took a ride together a few weeks later. He is a photographer, but we talked mainly about bikes.

Then there was the airplane pilot, a visitor from Canada to the Bay Area. He rented a road bike for the day and, while I was riding in a blissful state of abstraction, asked me if he could ride along. He did, and we took on the hills in northern Marin County. We spent a nice day, he bought me a cup of coffee, and I took some pictures of him with San Francisco as a background. He was supposed to send me his email address for the pictures, but he never did. Perhaps I had a better day than he did.

Another such casual bicycle encounter was with a young woman, who had recently moved to the city from Humboldt County, in Northern California. I convinced her that it wouldn’t be a big deal to ride from Golden Gate Park all the way to the top of Twin Peaks, the highest hill in town. It wasn’t. She asked me if she could call me to ride again, maybe crossing the Golden Gate Bridge to Marin County. It was hard for her to find people to ride with who weren’t creeps. I thought that was a compliment. I’d be delighted, I said, but she never did.

The most recent of these bike friends is Michael, or Misha, as he is called at home. He rode by me with irritating effortlessness, while I was climbing on Panoramic Way from the coast. I managed to stay on his wheel but felt he was making it easy for me. We talked about his bikes, coffee, and pizza. He invited my wife and me to his home to sample his pizza-making ability. I was surprised by his hospitality, but we enjoyed ourselves enormously. We talked more about the bikes he keeps around the living room. Michael is old school, a firm believer in steel frames and tubulars. Each bike has a different story. He’s been riding across the Bay Area ever since he was a child. We’ll ride again.

Car drivers live in their cockpit in isolation from the rest of the cosmos and always think about their next move. Bike riders must be in touch with the surrounding world and live in the present. Bikes are friendlier.