As you may or may not know, in its day, Soviet Union had done away with the free market and private property. The land, everything built on it and everything produced on it was owned by the State. You, as a citizen, owned absolutely nothing. To deal with the issues of personal belongings, such as clothes, furniture, and even cars, the Party developed a concept of “individual property” as opposed to “private property” of the Western world. The peculiar differences between the two is a fascinating subject to talk about but not on a cycling related website.
In the absence of the free market, only one bike manufacturer made racing bikes. That’s right, only one. We’re talking 300,000,000 country here, not Liechtenstein. Cycling shoes were produced by one factory and jerseys by two or three. Whether you were a 12-year-old beginner or an accomplished member of the national team, you and the vast majority of riders you competed against at the same level rode on the same equipment, wore exactly the same or similar jersey, helmet, and shoes.
When you start cycling, usually between the ages of 12 to 14, the State provided you with a second-hand beginner’s racing bike — Старт-Шоссе (pronounced start-shosseh). Made of water pipe tubes and steel components (except rims, brakes, levers, and handlebar), weighing over 12kg, Старт-Шоссе was not a bike you would be too much excited about unless you’re 12 years old and your family could not ever afford to buy this kind of bike for you (it used to cost about an average monthly salary or an equivalent of around A$4,000 in buying power). At any given time, there was always something wrong with Старт-Шоссе. If it’s not a headset (constant problem), it’s a bottom bracket, rear or front derailleur or a broken spoke. Look at the photo, it’s an almost exact replica of what I started on in 1978: 10 speed, 51/40 front with 13-21 (2 teeth steps) thread-on freewheel at the rear. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the state-of-the-art saddle. No, it’s not Brooks even though it was made of leather.
After two-three years of consistent training and some promising race results, you’ll be seen as being committed to cycling. At this point, you’ll be upgraded to a serious race machine, Чемпион-Шоссе (champion-shosseh). Depending on where you live (big or small city), how “rich” your cycling club is or what kind of connections your coach has, Чемпион-Шоссе may or may not be free. If it’s not free, the street price for these bikes was 4 times the price of Старт-Шоссе or an equivalent of 4 average monthly salaries. These bikes were not available to the public, unlike Старт-Шоссе, and in fact were made to order and were nicknamed спецзаказ (spets-zakaz or “special order”) because of it. I lived in a small city and my club was underfunded. My parents ended up paying for two Чемпион-Шоссе and a Cinelli Super Corsa. Чемпион-Шоссе, known as чемпик (chempik) among racers, was a decent racing rig built from German tubes (Witberg) and equipped with mostly aluminum components. It weighted around 10kg. With Campagnolo components, Чемпион-Шоссе was good enough for serious racing. As a matter of fact, plenty of champions made their break through at the national level on a Чемпион-Шоссе.
If you continued to perform consistently well, you’d be selected to race for the national, state or various top level teams run by government organizations such as the Soviet Army, Police or even the Central Trade Union. Early 80s saw the birth of a new breed of cycling teams in the USSR which closely resembled European pro teams — the Centers of Olympic Development. You end up in any of these and you’ll be riding a Campagnolo Record equipped Colnago provided to you for free by the State. In a national team, you’ll also be supplied with a truckload of cycling kit from Castelli, Santini and Adidas.
This three-tier equipment supply system was common for the vast majority of racers in the USSR. Of course, there were some exceptions. Some bikes, equipment and other cycling gear was brought in from Europe and sold privately by racers, mechanics or team staff. This is how I was able to buy a Cinelli, Santini knicks or Concor saddle when I needed it (except, I didn’t really need a Cinelli). If you turned up at a state level road race in the 1980s in any of the cycling-mad soviet republics such as Russia, Ukraine or any of the Baltic republics, you would see most riders on almost identical Чемпион-Шоссе, a few beat up Colnagos and an odd Cinelli, De Rosa or something of this sort. Step up to the national level, and the peloton is filled with Colnagos (old and new), few Campagnolo-equipped Чемпион-Шоссе and again some odd Italian frames in between.
The end result, however unintended, was that this system bred a road racer least of all concerned about equipment (as long as it worked) and heavily concentrated instead on making sure he’s got good legs on the race day. This breed of racer would not waste his time searching cycling forums and seeking opinions on whether or not he’ll be better off buying a 40mm deep rim wheels or 50mm deep, this brand or that brand, 16 spokes at the front or 20, elliptical shaped spokes or flat, or should he upgrade his frame to this year’s model or wait for the next year’s one (50g lighter), and on and on.
No, he would be making sure he trains right and rests plenty, eats the finest diet he can afford, knows everything there’s to know about the race he is going to go to, analyses his previous mistakes as well as good moves, has a race plan and can guess what his rivals can and cannot do. If possible, he will go and ride the race course to see where he can possibly attack or where his rivals can attack him.
In other words, his thoughts are about what he can do to have a good race result rather than what equipment can I get to help me to have a good race result. The former is a road racer, the latter is a bike equipment consumer. The former will look after his equipment with care and attention and be always content with it, the latter will neglect it and throw it away as soon as something “better” is on the market.