Condor Acciaio long-term review

Over half a year and several thousand kilometres since I bought it, the Acciaio frame-set is still here. That's not something to take for granted: the turnover in the shed can be brutal. More than that, though, it's still built up. And more than that, it's the bike I ride more than any other. So, what else to add to my early-days review?

Gearing

I played with the setup more or less continuously until about a month ago. The basics have stayed the same: frame plus standard Condor full-carbon fork, Easton seatpost, Ritchey 110mm stem, Deda RHM02 bars, and mainly Ultegra groupset. The fiddling has been with the gearing: I started with a compact, switched to a (105) triple, switched back to the compact but with a 38-tooth inner ring, then switched back to the triple. 

The conclusion? I remain a fan of triples, and an out-and-out heckler of compacts. For me, the jump down from 50 to 34 on a compact is just too big. You shift the front derailleur, then have to crash down multiple gears at the back to get anything like a similar cadence. On a triple, especially a 110PCD triple (50-39-30), one change down at the front and one at the back is just about perfect.

The 30-tooth inner ring is little used, hence the experiment with a 50-38. I would have stuck with that, but the TA 38-tooth ring refused to shift smoothly, getting hung up on the downshift from the 50. So, back to the triple and its extra 100g or so. 

Contact points

I've tried various saddles, ending up with a Fizik Aliante. Fizik say this saddle is good for people who lack flexibility, but I'm actually quite flexible (at least by their simplistic can-you-touch-your-toes measure). The reason I prefer it is that when you want to extend your legs for a bit more power, you can slide back on to the rear of the saddle for a slightly higher, longer seating position.

I've also played about with the bars a bit. After a brief flirtation with some old Big Piegas, I've been using Deda's RHM02 bars. The jury's a bit out on these: the drop and curve are very comfortable, the forward bend (in the photo on the right) less so. A shallower radius would be more comfortable; this bend is so square it forces my hands further out than I'd like, making the bars feel wider than others of a similar size. On balance, I find the old FSA compacts, which were slightly narrower at the top than the drops, preferable.

Wheels

Wheels can make or break a bike. I've used the lightweight Ksyrium SLs shown in the photo on the Acciaio, and also some nice-but-sturdy Harry Rowland 32-spoke wheels on Ambrosio hubs and Open Pro rims. The difference is marked, as you'd expect. With the SLs, the bike responds very readily to a press on the pedals, and accelerates quickly. The Rowlands give the bike a different character – not necessarily less enjoyable. It feels like a machine you can happily ride on cobbles and dirt roads, a real bruiser. Still, though, lightweight enough for fast riding.

Weight

We had to come to this in the end, didn't we? Depending on what bits it's wearing, the Acciaio (a size 55 frame) comes up at a bit under or a bit over 9kg: pretty heavy, relatively, for a bike that would cost about £2000 to build up to this spec from scratch (though about the same as a £1500 Specialized Roubaix). So, you could easily get something lighter for less. It just might not be as satisfying to ride or own.

Summary

It's possible to disguise a good frame using poor kit (especially wheels). It's also possible to make a so-so frame ride better with expensive equipment (especially wheels). I've built up and ridden the Acciaio frame with a range of middling and (in the case of the wheels) a-bit-better-than-middling kit, which has given me a good feel for its capabilities. I'd summarise it as a thoroughly modern version of an old-school steel frame. It's stiff enough to transfer power from your legs efficiently, is still comfortable on long rides (probably the most comfortable road bike I've owned), and is engaging to ride. (I'm trying really hard not to say "lively" here...)

Most of all, the Acciaio has a versatile nature that's welcome in an age of niches within niches. Build it light, drop the stem, and it feels close to a flat-stick race bike. Use more robust components, and you've got yourself a cobble basher. Strike the middle ground, and you have something that can do everything.

And it looks pretty, too.

Condor Acciaio review

Until now, only three bikes have been permanent residents in my bike shed (though many more have passed through): a 2003 Specialized Allez; a Cotic Soul mountain bike; and a Condor Pista fixie. I've now bought a Condor Acciaio frame because, though stiff and responsive, the Specialized can be uncomfortable on longer rides. 

First impressions of the Acciaio are good. The frame seems well made, the paint’s beautiful, and the pre-sale prep by Condor is excellent. These guys do really care about making sure you’re happy with your bike. I chose to build the frame up myself, and it’s kitted out with mainly Ultegra from about 2008, Mavic Ksyrium SLs, and fairly ordinary bars/stem/pedals/saddle from the shed.

Contrary to Condor's reputation, the Acciaio seems good value. A hand-built frame made of triple-butted Deda Zero Replica steel, it costs £749.99 including full-carbon fork, headset, and (rather useless) seat clamp. Similar frames from builders such as Enigma, Duell, Pegoretti, Milani, or Zullo cost over £1000 once you include the forks; some of them, double that.

This is an early-days review: the bike’s only covered a few hundred kilometres since I bought/built it. That’s long enough, though, for the shining eyes of new ownership to dim, and the reality of day-to-day riding to come to the fore. So, how’s it doing so far?

• Ride quality

I’ve seen a couple of reviews suggesting that the ride’s a bit stiff on this frame, but for me, the balance between road feel and smoothness is very good. I built the Acciaio up with parts taken off my Specialized frame, which gave a near-direct comparison of the feel. It's certainly not as stiff, and feels a lot less chattery over rough surfaces, but the response to harder pedalling is still quick: it doesn't feel like a bike you have to wind up to speed. For me this frame has the same liveliness as my friend Hammy’s old steel Colnago, but with a much stiffer bottom bracket and modern geometry.

           

• Comfort/fit

This is excellent. I picked this frame because it has similar geometry to my Pista (and better materials), and I find that comfortable to ride for hours on end. Losing 15mm of spacers compared to the Pista (10mm for the taller head tube, 5mm for the lower bottom bracket) gives the same riding position, as the frame angles are the same.

• Handling

73.5º parallel frame angles should equal zippy handling, and they do. The front end feels particularly sharp. Cornering is precise, with no oversteer or understeer, as are sudden changes of line, but the ride doesn’t feel twitchy. There’s no high-speed wobble to the bars going downhill. I'm currently riding with a 110mm stem: I think the frame would happily take 120mm or 100mm without the handling being affected.

• Weight

The Acciaio frame weighs a claimed 0.5 kg more than the E5 alloy frame it has replaced (I suspect that might not be the whole story, but I didn't weigh it before building it up). I can feel the extra weight when I pick the bike up, but not so on the road; I couldn’t honestly say the bike ever feels slower than an alloy or carbon one. Generally, weight in a frame hides itself far better than weight in the wheels and tyres. (The Ti frame I used to own, which was actually lighter, DID feel heavier on the road because it was so soft at the back.)

            Of course, physics demands that on a long climb, extra weight has to slow you down: in the Alps or Pyrenees, maybe I’d be less sanguine about that extra half a kilo. On the other hand, on descents the Acciaio feels more planted and quicker – and I’m not as good at going downhill as pedalling up.

Overall

So far, I’m really pleased with the Acciaio. For general road-bike riding it seems like an excellent choice, with the handling and ride feel particular highlights. The positive ride characteristics of the frame material, plus its durability and reliability, outweigh the theoretical negative of a full water-bottle's worth of extra weight. (True weight weenies probably won't have got this far with the review anyway, of course.)

One likely change: I may try a triple on it. It currently has a compact, but I feel there's a lot of duplication of ratios, and the rouleur character of this bike feels like a natural for a 39-tooth front ring – with a 30-tooth bailout option for safety.

Back in Britain

Back in Britain for two weeks, during which it has rained every single day. What are the ten most important things I learned from a year of travelling around Europe, meeting people, seeing new places, riding my bike, and paddling my surfboard?

1) France is really good, but the lunch thing is quite annoying. 12.30, everything stops. 2.30, some things start again. 3.30, almost everything's started again. (And 6.00, everything's closed again.)

2) The Basque Country is also really good.

3) Spain is actually a bit rubbish, except the bits where the place names have lots of x spellings that you pronounce 'ch' and pelota is a religion. The thwack of those pelota balls hitting the wall is the most evocative sound.

4) If you're going to spend a year living in a camper van, get one with a shower and toilet.

5) Drivers in Europe either don't mind cyclists, or actively like them.

6) Viewed as a whole, British drivers really seem to hate cyclists. And motorcyclists. And, now I think of it, other drivers.

7) TV in general is better in a foreign language, because there's a lot more room for you to imagine what's happening. The plots are better when you're making them up yourself.

8) Not watching the evening news or reading a newspaper is very good for me. 

9) Watching/reading them really isn't.

10) All Tories are heartless shits. Plus ça change. I think this lot is actually worse than the last bunch. At least some of the 1980s Tories climbed up the ladder under their own steam before booting everyone else in the face, rather than being carried up by Daddy's servants.

Hiding from the heatwave

We've spent the last few days hiding from the heat, high up in the French Alps. Since we were last here a large hole has appeared in the ground next to Hammy's chalet. This has made late-night returns hazardous, as we used to short-cut across the adjacent plot. Must remember to go round...

Bits and pieces here, mostly work: good, because I don't want to become one of the town drunks down by the fountain outside the tourist office, and without money to pay for stuff that's what could happen. Also because it's been too hot to do much else. We've done a bit of biking, a bit of walking, and one gorge exploration that ended in a wonderful swimming hole underneath a waterfall. The Glamorous Companion, and even the dog, took the plunge. Chilly, but that's what you want when it's 40 ºC and rising.


Now we're en route for the Basque Country. Waves! Too long since I got my scales wet, over a month. In a ritual every surfer knows, the board has been taken from its cover, inspected and replaced. The van has been reorganised in a get-into-your-wetsuit-quicker way. And I've woken up dreaming about dawn patrols on a little reef break south of... Ah, but I can't say, can I? Not without risking a car bomb. It's a spot between Guéthary and Lafitenia: easy to find, with a bit of wandering, but a long paddle over dark water. Bigger than it looks from the cliffs.

Soon come.

The world's best swimming pool

Two weeks in Chamonix, mountain-sport capital of Europe, finishing a book about snowboarding. In August. We arrive to afternoon thunderstorms that roll around the valley, bringing the Mutt trembling and shaking to lean against my leg. Later, after the showers, a walk in the cooler air and perhaps an ice cream. Allowed, because every day the Glamorous Companion and I swim in the World's Best Pool.

Where else can you do backstroke looking up at the continent's tallest mountain? Well, nearly, if we forget about Mt Elbrus in Russia... and in Chamonix, everyone does. An outdoor, 50-metre pool of the kind most British swimmers can only dream of (hence the woeful performance of British swimmers in London: it may no longer be true, but there used to be more 50-metre pools in Sydney than Britain).

In fact, the mountains loom everywhere here. I'm writing this in a shoebox apartment (the block is shown on the right) with a view of the glacier below Mont Blanc and the Aiguilles du Midi. It's easy to forget – you're walking along a normal street in a normal mountain town, then suddenly you look up and there they are, towering above.

We're leaving tomorrow, heading back to the Southern Alps for a few days and then out to the Basque Country. Too long without waves! We'll get a few days in Guéthary, then north an hour to meet up with my friend Moose, his partner Nicola and their shared horde of children, all jammed into his new-old pride and joy Hymer. Then, sadly, we're on our way proper north, slowly back to the UK in time for winter. Boo.

You've got to love this...

Hubris I and II

A few days in the old stomping ground of Allos, and I take the opportunity to get my cycling legs back with a climb of the Col d'Allos, down to Barcelonette, and back. It's 12 km up to the col (which is the penultimate of the five that did for Eddy Merckx in the 1975 Tour). Then 25 km down to Barcelonette, then reverse the route for home.

Any sportsman, of any stripe, knows to beware of hubris. I know to beware of hubris. Nonetheless I expect to manage this beast of an afternoon, near 40 km of relentless climbing, without having ridden a road bike for 2 months. The idiocy of this is brought home about 2.5 km from the top of the col, coming back. Suddenly, I start to feel like Dorando Pietri, the Italian marathon runner who was so exhausted that it took him 10 minutes to cover the last 350 metres of the 1908 Olympic race. I push on the accelerator, but the vehicle doesn't really move much.

I eventually grind over the top too tired even to pedal one more stroke, and coast all the way back to Allos. Tomorrow is declared a rest day.

Two days later, more trouble. My friend Hammy and I decide to explore the woods around Allos on mountain bikes. We grind up out of Seignus, where in theory the Tour du Verdon bike route should take us all the way down to Colmars for a coupe. In practice the Tour du Verdon bike route only makes infrequent appearances, signposts even fewer, and we very quickly get lost.

Six hours later, we roll down through Seignus again, bloody, battered and weary. We've manhandled our bikes further than we rode them, at least it feels like it. Having rekindled my love of off-road riding in the first hour, I now never want to see a set of suspension forks again.

It'll wear off, though.