So… What’s all the Hubbub?

Hubbub Bicycles was founded by Diane in 1997 with the publishing of her book, “The Hubbub Guide to Cycling,” a manual to help cyclists prepare for an extended bike tour. The original store location, a boutique “pro shop” in Cleveland Heights, was intended as a fulfillment center for a mail-order catalogue featuring carefully curated cycle-touring accessories. The in-store experience has always been focused on bicycle fitting, custom bike creation, and advanced repair services, supporting discerning cyclists from all corners of North America, and frequently visitors from overseas.

Diane’s experience goes back to 1974, as a principal in two other shops of Cleveland’s past: LBS Bicycles, and City Bike. Her background and interests are in art, journalism, advocacy, event and race management, and retail business. With regards to the bicycle business specifically, her passions have been fitting bicycles to bodies (since the early 80’s), and advising cyclists in selecting the best equipment and preparing for adventures.

Brian joined in 1998 as the permanent technical half of Hubbub’s 2-person partnership. As the internet’s expansion accelerated, the paper catalogue never made it beyond manuscript form, and we were busy fitting, assembling, and servicing northeast Ohio’s finest bicycles. At this time we were selling a great deal of Waterford Precision Cycles and Calfee Design, plus a few Ibis and Klein. In spring of 1998 we began working with Burley Cooperative and Co-Motion Cycles for tandems, and started riding a tandem ourselves. Later in 1998 we partnered with Seven Cycles, rounding out our selection perfectly to serve nearly every request.

Brian’s experience goes back to riding and working on bicycles in the mid-80’s, working five years in a bike shop – called The Bike Works, in Johnstown NY – while attending engineering school in the mid-90’s. He still has notes, sketches, and CAD designs of ideas from his early teens. His background and interests include marine and wilderness activities, elegant design, and mechanical ingenuity.

Growing up in the Adirondacks of upstate NY, his idea of a great ride is simply meandering off into the mountains, and exploring hidden backroads. Even today, this carefree approach to adventuring by bike is our favorite way to ride our tandem, and always part of the spirit behind the bikes we love to create for customers.

Adjusting our name to “Hubbub Custom Bicycles” in 1999, we found that by deepening our role in the bike’s design process, while still relying on the vast backgrounds of our skilled builders – mostly Waterford, Seven, Calfee, and Co-Motion – the three-way team we formed with a client greatly improved the buying experience and final product.

Diane completed her yoga teacher training in 2002, and began by teaching classes on the floor of the bike shop showroom a couple evenings each week.

Recognizing that the majority of customers were traveling more than 50 miles to visit, often much farther (occasionally flying in)… Wanting to thin out the inner-city service business a bit, provide a better experience (traffic, parking, quiet, better roads, one-on-one attention) for incoming clientele, and expand our offerings… We decided in 2003 to build out a new complex, combining three business models, out in Chesterland, Ohio. Starting from scratch, we built out an entire space that included a gourmet coffee shop (a popular idea now!) called High Peaks Coffee, a beautiful new yoga studio for Diane, called Daily Yoga, and a freshly designed retail and service center for Hubbub Custom Bicycles. Both yoga students and cyclists could come in and enjoy the finest organic coffee while they shopped in our store.

Making the move in 2004, some elements of this worked, even brilliantly, but too many parts of the concept failed.
1.) In hindsight we clearly made some enormous errors in judgement and planning. The coffee shop took some time to complete the build-out, equipment, hiring and training, and to perfect the product. We were also on the wrong side of the road for morning traffic, and arrogantly felt our product would be good enough to overcome an absent drive-thru window. Perhaps this might have worked in a more sophisticated area, but it’s poor business planning regardless.
2.) We were lied to repeatedly about what opportunities would be afforded for quality signage, discovering the truth much too late. Eventually we fought through to erect what were always ineffective signs, with fierce resistance from the “city,” but it was too little too late.
3.) Some might point out that our move away from the city caused the coming years of hardship, but that part of our plan worked perfectly.

2004 proved to be an immensely difficult year, as Hubbub fought to keep two brand new businesses alive, in a new location, long enough for them to grow towards self-sustainability. At one point we laid everyone off and closed down, but after three days mustered the energy to come back out swinging.

In 2006, while the businesses were still slowly climbing out of their holes, Brian developed an illness that proved to be another tremendous setback. In short, his esophagus stopped working, permanently. As he slowly deteriorated from undernourishment, work performance suffered accordingly, including relationships and perhaps results. Somehow, through Diane’s famously endless energy, Hubbub and Daily Yoga continued to improve, and High Peaks coffee held on with a small but solid reputation.

With the financial crisis of 2008, some caring customers would ask, “How are you faring?” Our response, “We don’t feel it. We’re coming from such a low, we’re still climbing up through the recession.” Hubbub was even named the most successful dealer in the country for a couple of its bike makers, and voted “Best Bike Shop in the Great Lakes Region” in the League of American Bicyclists.

In 2009 we finally shuttered High Peaks Coffee, converting the space to a lounge for Hubbub and Daily Yoga.

In early 2010 Diane began hosting a 1-hour live weekly AM radio show called “Bicycling Today,” out of Youngstown, Ohio. On Labor Day weekend that year she switched to creating her own radio broadcast, called “The Outspoken Cyclist” aired weekly by WJCU, FM-88.7 out of John Carroll University. Always available as a podcast, it continues all these years later. (update: as of mid-2021, the show is no longer broadcast over the air, and so not restricted to 60 minutes; and as of early 2022, publication is more random than “weekly”)

In 2011 Brian’s illness was diagnosed and he underwent a successful surgical procedure. The resulting health and energy brought in 2012, and Hubbub in one season was able to recover from seven years of hardship. Having finally fulfilled all past obligations, we were overdue for another major change.

Beginning in 2013 Diane moved her Daily Yoga Studio to Highland Heights, providing regular classes. Of course all classes went to on-line only during the pandemic, and the physical studio permanently closed in February 2022. She still continues to teach several classes per week on-line.

Having liquidated all clothing and most accessory inventory, Brian moved tools, parts, and equipment to an industrial space in Kirtland. The plan was to complete a lengthy backlog of small “always wanted to…” type projects, including some prototyping new products, in-house frame-building jobs, provide past bike customers with service, and continue producing custom bikes with partnering builders.

From home Diane maintains our Hubbub on-line store and projects like our Hubbub Helmet Mirror, as well as arranging bike-fitting services. She also continues producing “The Outspoken Cyclist” podcast.

From his commercial workshop Brian has since 2013 provided house-calls, occasional pick-up & delivery, and all the same full in-shop service Hubbub has always had. In addition to fitting, designing, and creating new bikes, services have expanded to include welding, machining, bead-blasting, and other fabrication processes.

Hubbub’s newest location, now in Commerce Park of Beachwood, is finally where we wanted to be back in the late 90’s! We’re excited to be centrally located to our core local client base, with convenient access to the highways for long-distance visitors, and surrounded by restaurants, hotels, and other bustling businesses.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Apologies for the length of this one, but sometimes to relay a proper story requires, well, telling the story properly. Diane has been wanting me to write it out, so here goes…

If I risked injury to my brain by thinking about it too hard, I may be able to conjure up a rough description of most of the bikes I’ve had since I learned to ride, which my mother says was at three years of age. I do remember the experience of learning to ride, but I don’t remember the bike very well. My first 10-speed road bike I think was a used Panasonic with 24” wheels, and I was well under ten years old. I was probably about twelve when my dad bought me my first “adult” bike that could really go places, a 25-inch Schwinn World road bike, with 12-speed indexed shifting and 630-32 tires. Around 1986 or so, I recall it costing about $220. I was riding a lot and already into fixing bikes, so it wasn’t long before I was upgrading parts as needed, teaching myself to rebuild wheels, but it would always be a fairly low-end bike. It did what I needed it to, and I rode it everywhere, over the mountain roads and around the lakes where I grew up, often 40-65 miles at a time, usually exploring alone.

Where I grew up was about 15-20 miles northwest of Serotta Sports at the time. I vaguely knew of Serotta, as the high-end bike maker who happened to be in my backyard, but I was a kid riding a value Schwinn. Discussing Serotta was like discussing Lamborghini; so untouchable that it wasn’t worth discussing, beyond reading a rare review or catching a glimpse of this mythical beast in the wild. I also didn’t know what I didn’t know.


Of course I read cycling periodicals religiously as a teenager, such as Bicycling Magazine, Bicycle Guide, and Road Bike Action. I’d buy a Winning! off the newsstand, if only to follow Greg LeMond, but otherwise I didn’t pay much attention to racing. In those magazines I might see the occasional mention of Bontrager or Klein, and I knew of Miyata and Specialized from advertising, but our local bike shops sold Giant, Ross, Raleigh, Schwinn, and perhaps Cannondale. That’s what we knew.

Presumably because of one of these subscriptions, I landed on the mailing list of a sport shop in Glens Falls and received from them a solicitation to their Open House Weekend event, which included an invitation to test-ride a Serotta. Was this even for real? I would have been approaching seventeen at this time in 1991. It was mid-June, and my parents readily agreed that as a family we would drive over there after church on Father’s Day.

My little brother says he went inside too, but I remember our mom and sister sitting in the van outside while my dad and I went into the store. There were Bridgestone bikes on the floor, and a little Serotta merchandizing stuff, but the shop mostly specialized in winter skiing, and over against one wall Serotta’s national sales manager was conducting fittings on a Size Cycle, then sending riders out on a demo bike. Just waiting around for this level of individual attention was unnerving but, eventually, it was my turn…

Unlike the other testers, who were fully kitted-out, I was a kid, wearing casual shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers. When the Serotta rep asked me to hop up on the fitting machine, my dad started to panic. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! We’re not taking home a two-thousand-dollar bike today!!”

The rep gently replied, “No, no… I get it… It’s no problem. The boy is here to ride a Serotta, yes? Well, that’s what I’m here for too, so we’re just going to fit him up to ensure he gets the best experience. This is what we do, and how we do it.”

My dad looked on nervously as the Serotta guy took measurements, made adjustments, asked questions, and made further adjustments to the machine. He then sketched a quick drawing of my fit parameters, and discussed with a mechanic which demo could be adjusted most appropriately. They settled on a black and purple Davis Phinney model, made a few tweaks, and changed pedals to accommodate my sneakered feet.

They sent me out around a few blocks, accompanied by a shop employee who scolded me immediately when I started out of the parking lot. “A fine bicycle is not a horse! You should never mount a bicycle that way!!”

Doh! I’m not even out of the parking lot, and already in trouble! Well, it’s not my bike, so I guess I need to ride it the way he says. His reprimand, however, had no lasting effect on my spirits after the instant I took that first pedal stroke.

Now, I had reasoned that an expensive bike was probably nicer than a cheap bike, but nothing could have prepared me for the experience of a bike so high-strung that it seemed alive, shivering with a desire of its own to launch like a rocket with my slightest input. I could only imagine what the bike might do if this shop employee wasn’t reigning us in. I already had a bike that propelled forward when I pushed on the cranks, but this thoroughbred just wanted to bolt, so effortlessly! A bike is a bike, right? How is this even possible? After a quick ride on city streets, I was soon wheeling back through the shop’s door.

The Serotta rep asked what I thought, but he knew we weren’t going to buy a bike that day. I thanked him by instead purchasing a bright red-with-yellow Serotta jersey. This was my first piece of technical apparel, and would remain my only jersey for several years. Before leaving they also gave me a couple posters of Davis Phinney, commemorating his recent achievement as the US National Champion, 2^nd place finish, leading the Coors Light cycling team.

Upon climbing back into the family van, my mom asked me how it went. I said simply, “Someday… I will have one.” There wasn’t much more I could say that would make sense.

She replied, “I am sure you will.”

Now that I had ridden something so impressive, I was aware of my own bike’s shortcomings, and so I saved up for the best bike I could afford, an aluminum Trek 1200. About a year-and-a-half later, in 1993, I started working at my local bike shop where I had bought my Trek. My boss had an older Serotta he had raced hard, and still rode occasionally. We were not a stocking dealer, but we had delivered a few custom bikes, and now I was getting paid to overhaul (and test-ride!) the occasional Serotta.

In early 1998, after college, I joined Diane at Hubbub in Cleveland, and quickly learned of her long history selling many, many Serotta bicycles in northeast Ohio. As half of Hubbub now, and the only mechanic, I was regularly working on Serottas when those bikes she had sold over the years came in for service. We were not selling Serotta anymore, but we still have the same Serotta Size Cycle to fit each client for their new custom bike.

A couple of these Serottas were my size, but I’m tall and inflexible, so most were not. I got to care for them regularly, usually annual overhauls, or at least seasonal service, and occasionally building new wheels or accommodating fit changes. One in particular belonged to a local gentleman named Paul. We looked forward to his visits; not just to work on his Serotta, but he’s always softspoken and kind. We hope we’ve done our best to take care of all our customers but, let’s face it, business involves personalities on both sides of the counter. Some folks you get along with a little better than others, and Paul is someone we always enjoyed. He purchased his Colorado II from Diane in 1991, and I became the bike’s mechanic in 1998.

By this time I was surrounded by exceptional bicycles, all day, every day, and Serotta is but one of many. Over the following seasons we’re selling some of the finest bikes made, mostly Calfee, Co-Motion, Seven, and Waterford. A few years later I bought an exquisite custom Waterford of my own, and we’re mostly riding our tandem anyway, so my burning need to possess a Serotta was long forgotten. Then, a few years after that, I finally started fabricating steel frames myself. While I haven’t made very many, I do strive to achieve a level of craftsmanship with each one that holds its own place in this world of top-of-the-line bicycles. Now that I have a collection of Ferraris, Porsches, Bentleys, Astin Martins, and McLarens, acquiring that Lamborghini I once coveted isn’t the priority it once was, especially since I can make one for myself now.

Somewhere in that time Paul decided to replace his Serotta with a modern production carbon bike from a more typical bike shop. We didn’t see him or his Serotta anymore because the bike no longer needed service. Shortly after we closed our retail Chesterland location, and I moved to the industrial space in Kirtland in 2013, I received a phone call from Paul. He said, “I know you’ve always been taken with my old Serotta, and it’s in our basement collecting dust. I don’t think I’ll be riding it anymore, so I’m wondering if you’d like to buy it.”

I had just splurged at an opportunity to add an Eisentraut and a stunning USA Masi to my collection, so the timing of his call was not ideal for my budget. I replied, “If you really must sell it, then I’ll figure something out, but if you’re willing to hold onto it, it’s an incredible bike and there might come a day when you want to take it out to enjoy it again, even if briefly. It belongs to you, and you don’t need to let it go. If and when you decide to sell, I would very much appreciate first right of refusal.”

He said, “You know what? I like that idea. I’ll keep it for now, and let you know if I change my mind.”

Since then, we encountered him at a rest stop on an organized ride in Kentucky once, I think around 2016 or 17. We ride our tandem with radios in our helmets, so I overheared their interaction from a distance when Diane reminded him that I had not forgotten about his Serotta, and he said that he had not forgotten either. Over the years since came the pandemic, blah, blah, blah, all leading up to 2022 when I was prompted to move my workshop out of Kirtland, and into my newest location in Beachwood.

Moving and single-handedly building out my new shop space over the 2023 season made for another challenging year, but I had a vision, and eventually pulled it off. It’s not 100% yet, but then again it probably never will be. Part of that vision has been to display cool bikes overhead, particularly the more interesting of my own modest collection. Wouldn’t it be super nifty if Paul’s Serotta was hanging up there too?

Over the summer of 2023 this was something I could barely consider, as all my spare attention and resources were focused on framing, drywalling, and painting, mostly at 12-16 feet above the floor of my new shop. Adding more bikes was not a priority. It was part of the vision that kept me going however, so I couldn’t help but think of it occasionally. It had been many years since I’d heard from Paul, and didn’t have his contact information handy, so at some point during the summer I dug through my old files and found his details. I never reached out, because I wasn’t yet prepared to do anything about it, but I did add his contact info to my phone and started writing his name on the occasional daily To-Do List… to do, someday.

About one week before Christmas we were relaxing at home around 9:30 in the evening when my phone rang. Paul’s name flashed up on the screen as the caller. Shocked, I answered the phone and exclaimed, “How are you!” while Diane tried to discern from my side of the conversation who it was. We chatted for a few minutes before he informed me that, indeed, the time had arrived to finally let his Serotta go. We chatted a little longer as I brought him up to speed on my new location, his auspicious timing, and how the bike might fit into my vision for the shop.

He eventually interrupted by saying, “I know that nobody will appreciate this bike as much as you, and I’m calling to say that I really just want you to have it.”

I believe it was from the sound of my jaw hitting the floor that Diane finally determined who I was talking to. To recap… The bike is my size, and with some of my favorite old parts hanging on it. It was built in 1991, sold by Diane at the same time when I first rode the Davis Phinney model that most directly influenced my fascination with exquisite bicycles. I have been the only mechanic to work on the bike since 1998, and it was owned by one of my favorite people. Paul still had the original catalogue and sales slip, including Diane’s handwriting. Oh, and that jersey I bought upon the occasion of my Serotta test ride back in 1991… It’s a few sizes too small now, but I still have it… The bike’s paint scheme happens to be an exact match.

I eagerly look forward to riding it this season, and I’m incredibly grateful to have it displayed above my desk at work, with the jersey, and my framed posters of Davis Phinney, all matchy-matchy, all from 1991.

So. Much. Silliness.

As desperately as I want to agree with Eben Weiss’s recent Op-Ed in Outside Magazine, titled “There’s No Good Reason to Buy a Carbon BIke” – as I have my own history of preferring bicycles made with steel – I must respectfully disagree with his titled premise, based on reasoning that revolves around his comment that, [manufacturers] “can tune ride quality and maintain strength while simultaneously keeping the weight to a minimum in a way that’s not really possible with metal tubing.”

After almost four decades of studying bicycle design, and three decades of participating heavily in their creation – with a distinction of learning from direct exposure to every result, often in perpetuity – the value of my agreement (or minor points of disagreement) is roughly equivalent to a couple teardrops in the sea, especially in today’s world.

I would argue that it’s not only easier to tune the ride of a metal bicycle frame, but more economical, and the possibilities for tune-ability are infinite, same as with carbon. I personally find I prefer the ride of a tuned steel frame over any of the finest carbon bikes I’ve yet ridden. So then, where’s my disagreement with Mr. Weiss, of Bike Snob NYC fame?

Most modern high-end components are designed for what the “miraculous” qualities of carbon fiber can provide, with a focus on winning races. Of course we can, and do, build steel frames to accept these components but, in doing so, we must sacrifice significant characteristics of what used to make steel so fabulous, thereby losing a most important justification for steel, its ride quality.

Riders’ belief that “steel bikes are heavy” is perhaps truer now than in the past 30 years… Steel bikes now need to be overbuilt, so they are indeed heavier – and more critically, stiffer – than necessary. The reason they’re overbuilt is not because steel isn’t strong enough… They need to be overbuilt because most parts today worthy of the craftsmanship in a fine steel frame are instead designed for non-steel bikes that do need to be overbuilt – disc brakes, thru-axle dropouts, oversize steerers and headsets and headtubes, etc.

Bike Snob is of course in the business of satire and opinions, not having to demonstrate value for folks walking through the door of a brick-&-mortar establishment. We have enjoyed his commentary for many years, and watching the controversy stirred up by his posting this time is no different. Based on his later elaboration on his own blog site, it appears he too is getting a kick out of the silly controversy. There is no end to the amusement that comes with watching folks spend time and energy arguing for personal beliefs that are completely irrelevant to everyone else.

The bike in my stand, whatever the frame’s material, is important to its rider, and my job is to ensure she loves riding it, not to judge her choices. This is especially true considering that, especially today, her freedom to make wise purchasing decisions is extremely limited by what the industry pushes; and, in her enthusiasm for what she’s been sold on what magic the bike can perform for her, she may not even be aware of this.

Materials have advanced immensely. Carbon is just dandy, if that’s your thing. I’ve owned or ridden extensively some of the finest carbon bikes ever made, but I don’t have them anymore. I’ve owned or ridden extensively some of the finest titanium bikes ever made. I no longer have any of them either. Some of them I liked okay, but none of them impressed me enough to keep them more than a season or so. Likewise, I’ve owned and ridden extensively some fine aluminum bikes too. No, I don’t have them anymore. On a side note, we have produced countless supposedly “forever bikes” over the years that are now obsolete and barely supportable. When their components wear out, modern equivalent replacements simply don’t exist to fit on the same bike. Some obsolescence is understandable, technology advances, but we’ve been forced to accept that fine bikes are disposable. So Much Silliness.

None of this makes me right about much of anything, except as I apply it to either myself or keeping my customer happy to come back. Like Weiss, I will not admit to being a curmudgeon. I enjoyed my 5, 6, and 7-speed bicycles, but I don’t regularly ride one anymore. The history of bicycles (or anything else) is full of bad ideas. That’s how creative progress is made, and I enjoy legitimate progress as much as anyone. Far too many of the final product decisions made over the past 5-10 years in bicycles however qualify as regress, So Much Silliness, not progress.

For me personally, my newest bike is from 2015 and my oldest rideable bike is from the 1960’s, with several scattered in-between – 80’s, 90’s, and 00’s, among the finest specimens created. Of the handful that I ride regularly, the experiences of riding them are exquisite, and yet unmatched by anything else I’ve ever owned or ridden. To me, and for my target customer, this is what matters most in a bicycle. They also happen to be steel, but I won’t claim that steel is the reason they’re exceptional. They’re all steel because I haven’t been impressed enough with anything else to keep it around. They were timeless, and there’s no excuse that the finest bicycles today, of any material, shouldn’t also be timeless.

I can carry on all day about my own preference for steel as a material for bicycles, and handily debunk every mythical objection to it. That said, there is indeed at least one good reason to buy a carbon bike. If you want a new bike today, the widest selection to choose from has been optimized using carbon fiber. This is not necessarily because carbon is inherently a superior material for anything but raw competition, but availability and choice in the market does make it arguably a superior purchasing option. Fair warning however… Mr. Weiss’s point that, “a carbon bike is thrillingly cutting edge until it’s about two or three seasons old, at which point it becomes yesterday’s hunk of plastic and nobody wants it, including you,” is truer now than for any material in the past.

Our “ShimErgo” Story

As described in this weekend’s episode of Diane’s Outspoken Cyclist Radio podcast, in 1999 we were inspired to determine a way to manage a wide-range Shimano drive-train using Campagnolo ErgoPower shift controls. I wrote a web article in 2000 about how to do it without the use of adaptation devices (shortly before the release of Jtek) and then again in 2003 posted a revised edition. Since then SRAM has entered the scene with alternatives for wide-range road gearing, and Shimano has not only attempted to meet that challenge, but they’ve also dramatically improved their shift-control ergonomics, function, and reliability. Although one of my favorite personal bikes still has this original “ShimErgo” setup, and I don’t intend to change it, with the modern gearing options available and working so well I’ve lost my reasons for (and therefore interest in) exploring ways to control Japanese derailleurs using Italian shifters, at least on new builds, for now anyway.

For years after posting the original article I received countless questions about how to combine components of different makes. In nearly every case my answer was, “I don’t know… I haven’t tried it.” When a client presents a problem, I try to solve it, but I’m afraid that doesn’t make me an expert in how to combine every shift-control with every other [claimed] incompatible derailleur mechanism.

A few years ago we made major changes in direction with our retail shop Hubbub Bicycles, and my outdated articles were pulled without second thought. I still have them though, and recently discovered many folks continue to apply the simple re-routing technique sometimes. In conjunction with Diane’s interview of our pal Mike Varley, proprietor of Black Mountain Cycles, in which this is mentioned, we thought it might be a good kick-in-the-pants for me to post a fresh edition of the article, even if just for sentimentality. If you intend to torment yourself reading it, please do keep in mind the time period and then-available parts, for context.

To my surprise, the name Hubbub is still receiving credit out there on the inter-webs for what in hindsight seems an overly simple solution. I can’t be sure whether this is good or bad, or neither, but I do hope anyone still using the technique also still enjoys its benefits, which in my view were more significant at the time. In preparation for this I even found copies of an old e-mail exchange, over a public forum, arguing with someone claiming I was perpetrating a hoax. Seriously… This was important enough to a naysayer, as if I had something to gain, or the world might explode if you tried combining Campy and Shimano. The really funny part was that some prominent tandem shops and touring experts across the US, and in Europe, began delivering fancy new custom bikes this way for a while. But it was a hoax…

I think maybe I was smarter back then. In any case, here’s a modernized version of the original how-to, and at the end of this podcast I bumble through an explanation of how we came to discover it. I’d recommend enjoying the whole show though.