Photo by Larry Rosa

This piece first appeared in LAVA Magazine, Issue 2, October/November 2012. (Subscribe now!)

The sport Unobtainium built
By Scott Tinley

In an icy basement near White Bear Lake, Minn., a bespectacled young man tinkers with his girlfriend’s racing 10-speed. Steve Hed, equal parts dreamer and scientist, can make the bike go faster. Some men court women with flowers and poetry. Hed offers free speed.

In a tiny bedroom north of San Diego, cycling aficionado Richard Bryne is thinking about “lay down style” handlebars for RAAM riders, steep seat-angled frame geometry for time-trialists, and an indoor rig he calls the Turbo-Trainer. He doesn’t know or care if they will work or if he will profit from his labors.

Bryne, along with Steve Hed, Oakley founder Jim Jannard, and PowerBar progenitor Brian Maxwell is one of those people destined to forge a better way because there has to be—must be—a better way to move through time and space. For people like them, building a better mousetrap is not so much an endeavor as a definition of who they are.

“Triathletes used new equipment as both a justification of their commitment and a symbol of their intent.”

It’s 1983 and triathlon is a fledgling subculture sport on the rise. The economy is strong, endurance athletes are bored with the predictable simplicity of running, and out of the boggy shallows of San Diego’s Mission Bay a new sport has emerged: one that combines style and speed. There are no strings that bind the sport to prior generations and no limitations stemming from tradition. Triathletes are products of a consumptive society that rewards hard work with material things and fuels their competitive fires with adult toys. They want to set trends, styles and records, and their minds and checkbooks are open.

But the intersecting story of technology and triathlon’s growth is not limited to the athletes. The tale is best told by considering the many and varied factors, beginning with the relationship between designer and athlete.

Jim Elliot on one of Richard Brynes' first aerobars

“When it comes right down to it,” suggests Hed, “triathletes are as geeky as the scientists.” He adds, “When we started producing wheels in 1984 there were perhaps 200 people in the world who needed a disc wheel. And that hasn’t changed much.” Hed suggests that while triathletes are always in search of that free speed, perhaps other motives helped to form the 1980s cottage industry of multisport technology.

Multisport athletes covet both fashion and function; a new concept in the world of sport manufacturing. After 18 months of planning by design guru Bob Scott, O’Neill Wetsuits rolls out the first North American swimming wetsuit that spring. Although the 1 mm vest/hood combo is a groundbreaking initiative, it’s still an under-developed product: It might keep you warm—in the mountains—but no one swims faster with its use. Simultaneously, Piping Hot, a surfing wetsuit company out of Torquay, Australia, builds a few high-neck long john-style suits that float a weaker swimmer’s torso. In good Aussie fashion, the athletes claim it’s all about preventing hypothermia while donning them in 85-degrees F water.

The guys in the basements and back rooms and industrial wind tunnels realize that for many, triathlon is a fantasy sport—if they want to play the role of dream merchant, free speed has to work, regardless of the price. Technology cannot exist for its own sake.

The bug-like Oakley Eyeshades worn by pros throughout San Diego and beyond

In the summer of 1984, Scott Molina debuts the Oakley Eyeshades. He looks like a bug, but the glasses work and Molina, one of the best endurance athletes in the world, starts a trend. Within weeks, coastal San Diego is swarming with Oakleys.

In the Berkeley, Calif., foothills, Maxwell and his wife, Jennifer, are tweaking proto-PowerBars in their kitchen while across the bay in Santa Cruz, Calif., idea mogul Jim Gentes is crafting Darth Vader look-alike helmets for a company he will call Giro. Their products will be fast, functional and fulfill a growing desire for cultural identity in the crowded world of sport. No one dreams that two decades later, Oakley, PowerBar and Giro would collectively be valued at close to a billion dollars and owned by large multinational corporations.

As Bryne recalls, it all began with an initial rejection of the emerging technology by road cycling and a total embracement of anything new and flashy by triathletes. “Tech was exciting.” Bryne’s voice gains volume and punch. “Triathletes used new equipment as both a justification of their commitment and a symbol of their intent. A new set of pedals signifies a lot more than the shaving of a few grams of weight.”

The Timex Ironman watch has been a best-seller since its debut in the 1990s

“Success is entirely about the culture that one comes from,” he argues. “You need to be born at the right time.” While Empfield might be downplaying the necessary vision, creativity and good business practice needed for success, he’s saying that if he or other designer/developers from the early 1980s tried to replicate their efforts today, they might fail under the weight of challenges unique to the present. Empfield cites cases of smart people behind great ideas who entered the multisport market during that storm, but could not sustain the production, sales and distribution momentum. Victor de Silva’s late 1980s neon rage, Tri Fit, Roger Sanders and Bill Goldfoos’ AeroLite pedals, Ralph Ray’s 90-degree seat-angled time trial bike and Bill Gookin’s Gookinade all faded from the market and the race courses and now exist mostly in custom orders, garage rafters and on eBay. If there is a pattern in their demise, it lies in an inability or lack of interest in altering the fashion/function ratio to match athlete/consumer tastes. And it must be noted that some folks just wanted to keep their world headquarters in a corner of the garage.

For other designer/owners, an opportunity to take the chips off the table and sell their company was just too appealing. Others have argued that without both a love of the game and blind dumb luck it became harder to stay afloat as the sport became gentrified and the larger players like Nike, Reebok, Trek and Gatorade entered the market. The unfortunate truth of manufacturing in a market-based economy is that you either grow and diversify, sell out or let it go.

Brad Kearns (right) debuts Scott DH aerobars at the 1987 Desert Princess World Duathlon Championships in Palm Springs, Calif.

Consider the Timex Ironman watch. Not an overly techy item, at one point it was the largest-selling watch style in the world. We were all so proud when President Clinton was seen running with one. The Timex Ironman keeps on selling by altering its look at least twice each year. It now relies more on what the marriage of the two brands represents than how many lap times it can store.

As the sport grew, labels developed, prices fell, sales and athlete sponsorships increased—and we all went along for the ride. As with any good business, successful designers and companies knew their market and adapted accordingly. Companies like Hed and Scott USA—holder of the license for the aerobar developed by Boone Lennon and Charley French—have held their own with expanding product lines, inventory controls, a smaller but historically rich brand name, and constant athlete input. Not insignificantly, the percentage of highly active athlete/employees in small to medium-sized sport-related companies has often ranged as high as 80 to 90 percent. The involvement of professional athletes in testing and design has also been high in triathlon.

But perhaps the least-known player in this ever-evolving market was the first. Nick Forte owns a micro-sized clothing manufacturing operation near Manhattan Beach, Calif., and is the creator of the first one-piece spandex tri suit in 1981. It was a custom order for transition specialist Mark Montgomery. “Why try to shave 15 seconds in your swim when you could take off a minute in transition?” Montgomery was fond of asking. Forte never got rich but still makes cool and interesting one-off clothing items for athletes. And he did what every triathlete secretly wanted—he found a way to highlight a well-earned body shape. Forte was selling function, but sexuality was included in the price.

When cycling legend Greg Lemond rolled out his so-called “secret weapon” (Scott DH bars) to secure his eight-second victory over Laurent Fignon in the 1989 Tour de France, we all rolled our eyes in sync. Triathlete Brad Kearns had first used those bars two years earlier at the Desert Princess World Duathlon Championship in Palm Springs, Calif.

That day, I chided Kearns and told him that his bars looked like a sprinkler system. And then I went into the hotel lobby to call Boone Lennon about getting a pair.

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Scott Tinley, a native Californian, is an accomplished teacher, author, and athlete. He teaches Sports MBA graduate students, undergraduate English students, and Junior Lifeguards. He is also a member of the Ironman Hall of Fame, a two-time Ironman World Champion, and has competed professionally in over 400 triathlons.