Manufacture Berthoud Cycles
Texte : Jean-Acier DANÈS

October is a harvest of sunlight.

    October is a harvest of sunlight. The world is drenched in cinnamon, the leaves have hues of maple syrup and my heart full of envy illuminates the lines of this landscape notebook like a Jack’O Lantern pumpkin.

     Soon it will be 2025 and it's dizzying. Let's take this date away from the daily news, with all its gloom and doom — and bring it closer to the landscape. What views would we have drawn in front of our eyes twenty years ago? How would we have imagined a city, a place for adventures, or a home in 2025?

paysage à vélo avec verdure

Photo credits : © Jean-Acier Danès

     As a child, I used to project that by then, we would commute through the air between skyscrapers. I'm a child of the late 1990s, afterall. I thought nothing of these metropolises that swallow everything, man-made water reservoirs, forests or putrid subways. I knew about corded phones and colorful, round cars. I didn't think the ultimate luxury would be an hour of silence. I saw in this quarter of the 21st century (which seemed so far away) the sign of a planet populated by progress, with its speed and vertical smoothness. A future of those who can only get along with futuristic sounds of bip-boops and fiou, like those of a shifting electronic groupset. And in many ways, when I pass a last-mile delivery robot on the streets of Los Angeles or Brussels, when a rocket reaches space and stows away on its launch silo, I tell myself that this future has been partially realized. It only takes a few hub rotations for our dynamo lamps to light up an entire road self-sufficiently, our tubeless tires seal themselves after cuts, our smartphones know how to find us and guide us, they scan the sky and offer us colorful maps of clouds or rainfall.

     Previously unimaginable data is now available at the touch of a thumb: a route with point-of-interest and reference times, power readings taken while pedaling, photographs that can be easily caught while riding, music that can be scrolled through with the touch of a finger on the shifter hood and listened to through bone-conducting headphones... The flood of innovations we are experiencing is staggering. Too much, perhaps, at times. And if there's one thing that remains unchanged, simple and happy, it's the joy of getting on your bike and going for a ride.

     From a technological point of view, bikes are surprisingly stable. Yes, of course, some revolutionary technologies that I'm not unaware of are constantly changing our relationship with the gear. But fundamentally, the steel bicycle designed by craftsmen fifty years ago has not undergone a radical change, either in its geometry or in its approach to the world and freedom. It has become lighter, it has changed standards, it has returned to other industry standards — yet it still does the same thing. From point A to point B, without disturbing the planet, it increases mankind’s speed tenfold, no longer reducing it to a few kilometers an hour, and enables human beings to benefit from their marvelous capacity for endurance. It's a machine for traversing the earth, a dream machine, a companion for reaching for the best. A machine both humble and splendid.

Photo credits : © Jean-Acier Danès

   I was so surprised when, during an outing in the Chevreuse region on a Sunday morning, I overheard a woman cyclist say, “It looks like it's going well, but why are you putting yourself through this?” She was surprised by the pace of my vintage rando bike. I'm well aware that this bike is a bit heavy, but the ride goes well. This audax machine runs like clockwork. It brakes hard thanks to its Mafac center-pull brakes on bosses and the frame is well loved. It's a good bike, with quality wheels, a Dura-Ace 10-speed groupset, and so on. Later, at nap time, on my sofa, I was admiring the beauty of this bike and its equipment (saddle, handlebar and endcaps, frontbag, lights, tires, bottle cages and mudguards can be found at Manufacture Berthoud). The aches and pains were there. I'll make just one concession: at twenty-seven years of age, with a build that's almost twice as old, the constraint of this set-up is its lack of modularity.

   I can keep up with retired club cyclists who are more geared with hi-tech stuff than I am, I can ride long stretches of road with carbon-riders without my mudguards crippling me, and I like to attack like a mad dog, even if it means losing feathers. The only thing I can't really do with this bike is adapt it perfectly to my morphology. Age demands it: parts like a 22mm quill stem are becoming rarer, harder to find and require a bit of DIY. Tools make certain operations more delicate, like disassembly for example, which can't be done with a single wrench like a modern bike, although I frequently try my hand at the game of packaging in SNCF train stations. It's a far cry from an all-integrated, disposable bike, but it's not a brand-new bike either. And I love this style of riding. All in all, this light randonneur bike introduced me to French craftsmanship, showed me the superiority of a steel bike made with love, for roads and projects like mine. It gave me confidence in durability and in the sum of small, personalized choices. It gave me confidence in durability and a sum of small, personalized choices. When I was looking for good-looking and convenient bikepacking equipment, or a saddle, it put me in touch with Berthoud. However, it's now showing its limitations, which is to be expected for a bike first bought by a now-deceased gentleman to ride Brevets and centuries in the 1980s. It's an extraordinary set-up and I don't intend to sell it, but for other adventures I need a more contemporary tool, designed from the outset for and for my dreams and above all my morphology. A bike for my age, yes. A different bike, not so much, or hardly.

    So that Sunday, in a little notebook where I assiduously log my activities, I scribble down in pencil the ideal bike specifications I'm looking for:
«   N°1: position, ergonomics, optimal comfort. There's an incomparable ease and freedom when you wear a bespoke garment made to your dimensions and with your specificities, rather than a garment that's been retouched and adapted. This is even more important for a bicycle, when the cyclist is not quite up to the expected 'norms', or when his or her cycling is unusual. This optimized position is the key to performance, endurance, smooth pedaling and injury-free riding.
    N°2: Modern assembly with proven standards, technologies that make life easier. Always ready to roll, ready to go, ready to live. It's the kind of bike I use every day for adventure, ready to take on 500 kilometers or a bivouac.
    N°3: line, elegance, panache. A bike that can't be thrown away, thanks to the unrivalled quality of the craftsman's gestures: the fittings, the choice of materials, the attention to detail. The simple act of looking at it makes you want to go for a ride, to enjoy it aesthetically.   »

    When I close my eyes, this road-ready machine doesn't look all that different from my current hiker. The differences are marginal but make all the difference. In a few points, I had written down the motivations that lead to a made-to-measure bike.
There are others:

  • a choice of consumption over a long period of time (a single bike that can be adapted, repaired, tubes changed, brackets welded, etc.).
  • a dialogue with a craftsman/bikebuilder, who makes a living from his passion for bicycles and finds solutions through his industrial genius and creativity. Agreed priorities are the basis for the art of clean assembly, with mechanical arrangements taken into account from the outset.
  • and finally, a way of celebrating his passion. To indulge oneself. To mark the passing of the years, to match your character, to share with people who live for bikes (and not just people who want to sell us bikes).

I close the notebook.

Photo credits : © Berthoud Cycles

   I now have more questions and fewer prophecies in my head than when I was a child. I know the immensity of what I don't know. So, sure, I could go to a chain store or an official dealer, buy a bike already assembled afar, fork out a few thousand euros from my wallet and have something functional. I could then pray that it would be easy to maintain, that I could fit a bag where the brand hadn't planned me to do so, a light bracket where they hadn’t planned me to do so, change a position to the extent that would suit me without altering the package I bought.

    But for a similar price, I can also rely on a lifetime of experience. Entering into a dialogue and say “I'm like this,” or hearing “you need this because you pedal like that”. Waiting months and months, almost years, longing. Choosing angles, evoking tube thicknesses, composing a recipe with choice ingredients like a chef. Be open.

    And in a few months' time, I'll saddle up and go to Berthoud, to pick up a unique bike, with which a very special alchemy is formed over the miles. A bike that will remind me of Fred, Philippe, Denis, Marjorie and the experience of their trials. I could then jump off and say “Ah. Now that's something else.” Lift my head, accelerate, smile and say to myself, “Here's my shoe for the journey I have left.” And what a joy it is to live each day accepting to be disoriented.

Photo credits : © Berthoud Cycles

See you soon, for the November article, and have a good trip until then.

Jean-Acier DANÈS, auteur de Bicyclettres (Éditions du Seuil).

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