Jo Klieber

Tomek

· 04.07.2007

Photo: Unbekannt

Jo Klieber

Restless in Tachertin - On the south-eastern edge of Germany, Jochen Klieber has been inventing bike parts that are better than most for over ten years. His company philosophy is not based on university diplomas, but on the children's book "Stupsi explains the tree".

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Jochen Klieber is not a coral. That's why he rocks from right to left on his mushroom-shaped office chair, from one large flat screen to the next. He turns a kind of joystick with one hand and simultaneously clicks the cursor into any number of buttons in a sophisticated design programme with the other until the head of the virtual seat post is positioned as desired. Rotates on the orthopaedic seat mushroom away from the design and says: "People have to move when they think. After all, he's not a coral!" Klieber the person certainly isn't. Fixed in place and rigidly waiting for a brilliant idea to float by? No, unimaginable for someone like that, because: "Every really good company was founded by someone with conviction."

And whenever possible, he sends data packets back and forth between the continents via satellite instead of travelling by plane. The data stream often flows to Taiwan, the country of origin of most of the products. Business partner Louis Lu is based there. He transforms the designs and prototypes from the Syntace mill into series handlebars, stems and seatposts. And if that doesn't work out the way they both imagined, the operating light of a webcam glows between Klieber's giant screens. Then technician fingers in Taiwan and Tacherting point to the problem areas in the aluminium until aspiration and reality match. This can take time, but the earth's atmosphere is spared a lot of paraffin. "I was lucky enough to find someone there who ticks like I do," says Klieber.

He then turns his mushroom chair back towards the screen and deliberate clicks move the virtual seatpost model a little further. Finally, the Enter key commands the simulation of a load with five times the acceleration due to gravity. That's as much as the metre-high drop of a drunk rider. 29,000 individual elements of the 3D grid are set in motion; a single calculation operation used to take longer than a day. The 12,000-euro computer knows practically every molecule of the model by its first name. But thanks to optimised computing power, the part is already deforming before its creator can proudly state: "That's exactly what it looks like in practice."

The scientific part of the practice makes the earth tremble next door. In the workshop - "access only on request", as there could be secret prototypes standing around - a machine park kneads lightweight handlebars into aluminium scrap. Next to it, a pipe breathes salty vapour over clamped stems. Again and again. Crystals proliferate, rust drips. The machines destroy what their master has devised. Evolution in fast motion, destruction with extreme meticulousness. What fails is recreated. After all, it is the "Development" department that keeps the sales department spinning.

In technical German, it would be said: "A weight of 62 kilos pulls Jo Klieber's body towards the centre of the earth"; his neighbours in Tacherting would say: "A good rooster doesn't get fat." In any case, the key member of the development department sits on a petite body and looks deep into the world with blue eyes. Many self-made people only have answers. Klieber observes, listens and has questions. One of them is "What has he built there again, the dog!" and is a sign of respectful appreciation for the obviously self-constructed apparatus of the screed layer who is currently working in the extension. Think for yourself, do it yourself, that's his world.

After Klieber succeeded in provoking damage through "stress corrosion cracking" with the help of his new test machine, the Klieber crew now bags up replacement parts. Cardboard boxes and packing lists, that's what the employees do for him. But even exchanging parts can be a matter for the boss. When someone is stubborn. "Most customers like the fact that we exchange things before anything happens. But there are a few people who think we have to pay for a taxi to take them to the post office, provide them with a replacement bike and honour their loss of use. In order to get so much money, we would have had to cheat them when they bought the bike. Klieber then finds a quiet corner, takes a deep breath and calls the problem customer. So far, this has always worked.

The fast-forward continues into an outbuilding where the screed layer is currently spraying concrete. A room with a bathtub is being built in the former stable. It's not tiled in the corner, but in a very wide pit full of pebbles: "I don't have to mop up when I get out of the bath with wet feet. And if the installation causes trouble, you can get at it with a shovel." In the same vault, there will eventually be a few tailoring dummies made of wire mesh. For the bike clothes. A simple wardrobe is out of the question. "It makes much more sense this way! I wash the clothes, hang them there to dry and can put them on again straight from the mannequin. That saves at least two work steps!"

And frees up time for practical work. The sensory part, the basis of all development. A gravelled path, a good handlebar width, circles the Syntace realm. With hills, jumps and hairpin bends. Dredged according to a precise plan to satisfy both the play instinct and the urge to explore. Ex-crosser Jo Klieber is currently waiting for the construction site to open up the trail again. Because he wants to finally jump the table behind the double cleanly. It is quite possible that he will be struck by a flash of realisation in mid-air. After all, man is not a coral. Not this one.

(Text: Jörg Spaniol, Photo: Unknown

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