A French Education

Julien is French. His accent gives it away, although there's a hint of German in there if I'm not mistaken. "Ha, yes, I lived in Germany for the last fifteen years," he replies, "and this year, my wife and I decided to move back to the south of France." As we settle into our call to chat about his relationship with Sarto, Julien explains the roots of his move to Germany and how a post-grad job that seemed like a good use of his engineering degree drew him north, all the while thinking he'd only be away from France for a few years. "Then I met my partner, and four years became fifteen!" 

I don't want to assume all French people have a history with bikes, but given Julien's passion for his two Sartos, a Dinamica and Lampo Plus, I venture that he is not unfamiliar with the lore, daring-do and romance of the road that is French cycling culture. "Oh yes, I grew up in a family of cyclists!" he exclaims, his voice ringing down the wire. "My father was a keen amateur and raced in Belgium alongside some of the big names of the time. He never progressed to the pro ranks, but his experience, I think, suffused my very being, and I fell hard for the bike." 

"My uncle was kind of crazy because, in 1969, he departed France on a journey that would see him ride across the USA and down through South America, 8800 km in total." Did his uncle plan to ride all that way, or, like Julien's overlong stay in Germany, did the journey develop as he pedalled? "No, he planned the whole thing. He went looking for adventure, to see North and South America from the saddle. That was his idea from the outset. He was young." 

Later, a cycling cousin in Belgium taught Julien how to draft, ride safely in a peloton, manage cross-winds, and ride in style - souplesse, if you will. "I learned to cycle with my family, and it was a complete education. I never needed a club to learn how to be a good road cyclist."

Our conversation turns towards the technologies available today, the power meter, wireless shifting. "I sometimes feel a little lost with this world," he admits. "I went most of my cycling life without them, but to younger riders, they're the most natural thing. How strange!" 

"She was doing exercises to prepare for her first competitions, and I asked her if she had a power meter. She said yes, of course she did, and asked if I had one. I replied that I did not, that I was old school. Well, she was shocked. How could I ride without one and train effectively?" he says, laughing at the memory. 

"Without a power meter, I rely on how I feel, when it burns, when the body says no more, or go, push, today you are twice yesterday." Does Julien think listening to his body first, rather than reading a number, offers a more intuitive way to know himself and his capabilities? "I'm not sure. Knowing yourself, as a cyclist, or in general terms as a whole person, is the way to a certain wisdom, I think. At the very least, you might become aware of your ability to trick yourself, to see a bias, and be better able to correct it. As cyclists, after so many years of pushing at the limit, I'm sure most understand what works for them. Whether that understanding is enough to perform at the highest level is unclear. That's probably where power meters come in!" 

And if that seems a little general - and generous - Julien is happy to clarify what he means. "I think for a frame to feel good, it simply has to translate your power effectively," he says. "Ok, that is perhaps not simple, but what I mean is that the frame is there to work in a symbiotic relationship with the cyclist. You have to be one with your bike, like a rider and his horse, and somehow, the Sarto does this better than any bike I've ridden." 

To emphasise his point, Julien recalls the moment he unboxed his first Sarto. "When the Dinamica arrived at my home. It was snowing, and I couldn't get out for a ride. So I unpacked everything, installed the wheels and cockpit, and I swear I felt something just by pushing the bike along the floor." I laugh, and Julien promises he's not joking. "No, no, that was when I fell in love with Sarto frames," he says. "And really, if we are to discuss how a Sarto is different from a mass-produced brand, we must talk about the stability, stiffness and how power is transferred to the wheels. It's so responsive. But these are just words, of course. Love is a word, but it is not the thing. Ultimately, a person must ride a Sarto to understand and perhaps fall in love with the bike themselves."

His French heart might beat with the romanticism of his forebears, but it is Julien, the engineer, that responds to those feelings, however passionate they may be. "There's undoubtedly something incredibly precise about the front end, the head tube and fork, and how they interact. I think that is the key to the bike's stability," he says. And Julien would know. As a tall, powerful rider, getting caught in a crosswind or thrown about on an open descent at speed is no joke. At such moments, stability is more than mere marketing; it can mean the difference between descending safely or struggling home. Or, as Julien puts it, "On windy days, I have no fear when I am on my Sarto. I am one with the bike. I feel safe."

As our conversation wraps up, Julien explains how his passion for cycling has made waves with his wife, who now rides a Sarto of her own. "Before she got her Seta Plus, she couldn't understand why I loved Sarto so much. Probably I sounded a bit silly," he laughs. "But I remember when we went to the Sarto factory to collect her bike. We had such a wonderful day and a lovely ride together, and she told me, 'You were right! You just push a little bit and the bike rides itself!' And now we enjoy many nice rides and experiences together, and it's wonderful."  

It's clear that Julien's love for the bike, a passion that found flame with the encouragement and love of his family, is a gift he delights in sharing with others, his wife, friends, and countless lucky others he meets in life and on the road. 

Fair winds, Julien.