They had been talking for half the day. About all the things that make small fans forget time and space. That the "Moonrise" paintwork looks best when you're kneeling and looking at it from an angle, because then it looks like a Mallorcan sunrise. And even that is nothing compared to the most divine of all colour variants, the meteorologically inspired "Storm" special paint finish. That was settled. But the next item on the agenda divided the participants of the "1st Klein meeting" into two opposing camps. It was about the drive through the Ulm region and the delicate question: Is it sacrilege to bring a classic Klein into contact with dirt, or is it proper homage to the brand myth? The discussion dragged on. "Nah, nah," bitched Frank Wedekind, the owner of the two-wheeler pictured above, "I don't ride my 'Attitude', never!" Not with an old, proper "Attitude".
Hardly any other bike is the subject of such fuss as the "Attitude". The bike seems to have a narcotic effect on rational thought. Matt frame carcasses are worth four-figure sums to collectors, while handsome "Attitudes" elicit many times that amount from their wallets. The older, the better. Some "attitudes" adorn living room walls, others are preserved as an investment, the fewest are used. Extreme brand worship, fuelled not least by the hysteria itself. The "Attitude" is the only mountain bike that obeys the laws of the art market. How this came about is a long, complicated story, in the course of which the "Attitudes" were divided into "right" and "wrong".
At the beginning of this story, 18-year-old college boy Gary Klein was at the start of the annual "Davis Double", a 200-mile race where Klein discovered his passion for cycling on a decrepit Schwinn. Klein was so fascinated by the power of pedalling that he joined the cycling club at the Massachusetts Institute for Technology in Boston. Soon the chemistry student was all about cycling. His career aspirations matured accordingly. Klein and his team mates learnt the basics of frame construction on university courses. "We experimented with boron, beryllium and aluminium," recalls Klein. At the beginning of the seventies, this was almost real science fiction. Back then, bicycles were made of windy, rust-prone steel tubes. With 20,000 dollars in start-up capital from a university fund, Klein and three mates finally ventured into professional frame construction. "It was simply decided that the company would bear my name," says Klein, who is considered a modest, shy guy.
It was the drive for perfection that ultimately turned the company into an engine of innovation. The list of patents grew. Standing still was unbearable for Gary Klein. The press called him the "aluminium pope", with 50 people working in his halls. Finally, in 1990, Klein presented a frame that boasted so many innovations that it looked like a preview of the next millennium. "Attitude" was written on the top tube, "attitude" as in "posture". To increase the stiffness to a maximum, but at the same time reduce the weight to a minimum, the frame had voluminous aluminium tubes as thin as a cola can. The headset was huge and glued into the frame, as was the bottom bracket. The cockpit formed a single unit, the cables ran inside the frame and the weld seams appeared invisible. The trendy colours turned the "Attitude" into an art object, and World Cup successes underlined the technical claim. Then came the competition from Taiwan, price pressure and Trek in 1995. The takeover of the cult manufacturer by the large corporation marked the end of the real "Attitude" for fans. From then on, the famous lettering was stuck onto assembly line frames. Gary Klein himself retained the role of mascot. Trek discontinued the European distribution of the Klein division years ago.
However, the "Attitude" myth grows with every year. Favourite location for the 2008 Klein meeting: a shop in Rüsselsheim, whose shop window once fell victim to a Wackerstein. The thieves stole nothing except the two "Attitudes" on display. Whether to drive or to look at is not known, however.
Text: Henri Lesewitz
