Wolfgang Renner talked for two hours. About his life. About the history of his Centurion brand. About the adventures he still goes on today, at the age of 68, to test his own resilience. But Renner is not satisfied. He could fire off as many anecdotes, years and statistics into the room as he likes. The decisive factor, the genetics of his innermost being, simply cannot be put into words.
"Thorsten, is the meeting room free?" Renner asks his marketing man, who is also sitting at the desk. Thorsten nods. Renner jumps up from his leather executive chair. Showtime.
The meeting room is located on the ground floor of the angular functional building, which is inconspicuously stuck in the industrial area of Magstadt. The room is large, almost like a hall. Renner hands out 3D glasses, draws the curtains and positions himself behind a mighty ensemble of projectors that looks like an exhibit from an exhibition about the pre-digital age.
"Himalayas, 1987, from Manali to Leh. Unsprung!", Renner moderates into the atmospheric carpet of sound that now booms out of the loudspeakers with increasing drama. Images shine on the screen. Brutal, three-dimensional landscapes through which colourfully dressed bikers crank. Well-informed industry insiders know about Renner's passion for 3D photography. It's like sitting on a chair in the Himalayas and watching the brave heroes ride through the sea of rocks. You can feel the cold, the effort, the sweat. In the meantime, the music has built up into a highly dramatic sound construct as the bikers fight their way towards the final mega summit. Total ecstasy. Oops, wasn't that Eddy Merckx, the Tour de France legend once known as "the cannibal"?
"Yes, yes, Eddy. He called me back then in despair because he weighed over 100 kilos. So I said to him: 'Eddy, come biking in the Himalayas, you're guaranteed to lose weight,'" laughs Renner, as the final photo scurries off the screen and the last shred of music whispers from the speakers. Stunned silence. Like after a good concert, when the lights go up. Renner takes off his 3D glasses. For a moment, it is absolutely silent.
"Well, that's why I'm doing this," says Renner and switches off the projectors. Marketing man Thorsten nods, impressed.
"Great tour. I didn't even know it yet."
There are many things about Wolfgang Renner that are not particularly well known. He brought the mountain bike to Germany. Together with Andi Heckmair, he was the first biker to cross the Alps. He contributed to the first editions of TOUR magazine, organised the first German Mountain Bike Championships, took part in the first BIKE Transalp Challenge and turned his father-in-law's watch strap company into one of the most important companies in the bike industry. Wolfgang Renner has achieved pioneering feats, but there are others in the history books. He was never interested in fame. When Centurion celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of the brand in 2006, Renner only grudgingly allowed himself to be placed at the centre of the advertising campaign after persistent insistence from his marketing department. Now, in May, the fortieth anniversary.
"Gary Fisher would probably put on a yellow tie and put on a big show. That's not my thing. I'm going to cycle from Granada to Santiago de Compostella on the Way of St James. 1400 kilometres, together with my mate Reimund," says Renner. He only tells the reporter about the limited 40-year special edition model that is sparkling fresh from production in his office when asked. He is uncomfortable with clumsy self-PR.
The story of mountain bike pioneer Wolfgang Renner began in the early sixties. To save the 36 marks for the monthly ticket, Renner rode his twenty-kilo "Vaterland-Rad" to Stuttgart, where he was training as an electrician, instead of taking the train. Seventy kilometres a day, in all weathers. In the evenings, he trained in artistic cycling acrobatics with his twin brother Jürgen - a passion inherited from their father. When Renner took part in a cyclo-cross race on a whim and came second, his life took a sudden turn.
"My father found out about my start from the newsletter. He was beside himself. For him, artistic cycling was something noble. Like the cello or violin. And now I was suddenly playing the trumpet, figuratively speaking. He said that if I wanted to ride cross, I could move out." Renner became the star of the cyclo-cross scene. He collected titles and medals. Until that Wednesday in May 1971, when he crashed into an avenue tree at 200 kilometres an hour in his new Porsche. The shattered hip bones grew back together, but the pain during exertion remained unbearable. Renner took over his father-in-law's watch strap manufacturing business. When an acquaintance from the cycling scene offered him the distribution of the Japanese brand Centurion shortly afterwards, he jumped at the chance. Today, Renner employs around 200 people. The Centurion range comprises almost 100 models, and the Merida range just as many. Since a joint venture agreement was signed, the bikes of the Taiwanese bike giant are no longer only distributed from Magstadt, but are also developed here. The company is growing and growing. Renner has just signed a lease for the huge building across the road.
"That will give us a few more years of breathing space," says Renner.
Forty years is an impressive age for a company whose roots lie in the relatively young sport of mountain biking. Centurion has produced many innovations. But Renner has only kept two models. One is a red Thermoshape Fully and hangs in the boiler room. Renner calls the room a "horror cabinet". In order to hold its own against the growing competition, Centurion fully embraced the new Thermoshape process at the end of the nineties, in which the frame parts were to be made from a kind of carbon moulding. The day before the Transalp Challenge, Renner was sent a prototype to the starting point in Mittenwald. After the first few metres, he was overcome with panic. The frame was as soft as butter. When he stopped the project a little later, he had already invested seven million marks. It almost meant the ruin of Centurion, Renner reveals, looking with a mixture of horror and relief - like a mountaineer after a missed fall. Then it's time to move on to exhibit number two. It stands in the corridor between the warehouse and the office building. The hunter green metallic paint sparkles in the light of the ceiling spotlights: the Country, the number one Centurion. Renner pulls the chunky brake levers, lifts the bike to check the weight. A broad grin.
"Green. Back then, all bikes were green. Come on, I'll take it for a spin now."
A little later, Renner turns into the cross track of the RV Pfeil Magstadt. The kick is round. The calf muscles press edges into the Lycra. Renner is in top form. Not an ounce of fat. A few weeks ago he rode a stage race in the Himalayas. "A bit bumpy without a suspension fork," Renner calls out, his breath condensing in the cold air. Jagged combination of bends, short climb, root chicane.
"It's amazing how lively the geometry was back then. Not that much has changed," marvels Renner.
In the seventies and eighties, the trade fair in Long Beach near Los Angeles was what the Eurobike trade fair is today: the bicycle industry's showcase. Renner spotted mountain bikes there for the first time in 1980. He was fascinated. The year before, he had ventured into the Karwendel mountains on a cross bike. In the end, he couldn't even count the number of flat tyres. These bikes seemed to be the solution. Unfortunately, they didn't make a particularly mature impression.
"That was due to the good weather in California. Guys like Gary Fisher only ever worked a little bit because they were always biking," grins Renner, who has a Swabian striving for perfection:
"The American bikes were horrible to ride. So I drew my own geometry. Just on a sheet of paper. I wanted something for the Karwendel."
In spring 1982, 300 Country bikes went into series production. It is considered the first German mountain bike. Renner went from wholesaler to manufacturer. He later invested his entire fortune to secure the rights to the Centurion name.
It's late afternoon. Renner is back in the office. On his chrome and glass designer desk, which he bought ten years ago to celebrate the brand's thirtieth anniversary, there are two pump pots of tea and a plate of sandwiches. He still has his cycling clothes on. There was no time to change yet. Renner is in a chatty mood. It's about adventures, races, encounters. It oozes out of every sentence: Renner has always been a biker at heart. It makes you want to settle down in a wing chair by a crackling open fire and listen to the stories.
"Nobody knows about the first German Championships, for example." Renner simply organised the title fights in 1990 after the German Cycling Federation, which was extremely sceptical about this new, wild fringe discipline at the time, refused to host them. One of Renner's mates had smuggled the announcement into the association's newspaper minutes before it went to press. The place had been kept free with a conspiratorial move. 1500 riders travelled to Münsingen for the first German MTB Championships. Mike Kluge won.
"The BDR went crazy," Renner is still pleased to this day: "All hell broke loose. I thought it was awesome."
Renner recently wrote everything down, a biography. 150 copies, just for friends. It would never occur to him to publish the book. That would be like putting on a yellow tie.
It's getting dark outside. Marketing man Thorsten has gone to get some aluminium foil to wrap the remaining rolls. Renner will now call it a day. Another gift he gave himself for his 40th anniversary. More time for himself. The microphone he used on the computer to practise English for the pilot's exam is still on his desk. A few days ago, he got his pilot's licence for single and twin-engine aircraft. A long-cherished dream. For him, who has worked twelve hours a day for decades, this tender letting go is a big step. Renner is as old as "Lemmy" Kilmister, the heavy metal god, who is currently completing the "40 Years of Motörhead" tour with his band Motörhead. Concerts have to be cancelled all the time. The weary Lemmy can barely stand. There's no need to worry about Centurion frontman Renner. He wants to carry on at least until his 75th birthday.
It would be the ultimate start to retirement: a Himalayan tour with the special "50 years of Centurion" model - with the 3D camera in the rucksack.
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