What's a Masi?

By Maynard Hershon (A Planet Ultra exclusive!)

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In the '70s, Masi bicycles were super-popular in the States. Faliero Masi had a fine reputation, having built bikes for many stars, some of whom rode Masis disguised as other brands -- their teams had bike sponsors but the stars preferred Masis. Or that's what we heard.

Few of our Masis were Italian. Ours were made in San Diego County in a shop set up by Faliero or his son Alberto to make bikes identical to Italian Masis. They looked identical, anyway.

We heard in those days that our Masis weren't brazed up in that factory, but were made cottage-industry-style by small builders scattered around the country. We heard that one guy built 56s, another 57s. We figured all the frames were painted and decaled at Masi in San Diego.

That was fine with us. No matter who had made them, they looked the same: same fork blades, same lovely scalloped seatstay caps, either of two styles of fork crowns. They looked like Masis.

In the mid-'80s, my friend David Schnitzer was lucky enough to live and work in Milan. He'd always admired Masis, so naturally he visited the Masi shop under the Vigorelli velodrome. He and Alberto became buddies.

Schnitz bought a white track frame from Alberto, with a road fork in it drilled for a brake. Nearly 15 years later, it's still Schnitz's winter bike and maybe his favorite bike. To this day, he treasures a photo of the two of them, Alberto and Schnitz, in the Masi shop. They're standing behind Schnitz's Masi, arms around each other, big grins on both faces.

Schnitz did suspect, hanging around there, that all the bikes weren't made at the Masi shop. He figured little builders here and there were making frames that would eventually be painted and decaled at Masi.

Because it all happened to some Masi's order, Faliero's or Alberto's, it didn't bother Schnitz at all.

In the mid-'90s, Schnitz saw a used but newly repainted black US Masi road frame at a shop in the States. He bought it to replace his 17-year old Lighthouse. So for the last half-decade, Schnitz has owned only Masis, the Italian fixed-gear bike and the black US-made road bike.

Schnitz is a Masi kinda-guy.

Recently, when he began thinking about a new bicycle, Schnitz went right to the US Masi importer's web site. He saw photos of the familiar shrine-like workshop under the velodrome and of Faliero brazing on a frame.

He read about the glorious history of Cicli Masi, about the hands of the master, the magic of Masi. He read about why a guy might pay serious money for a Masi instead of less money for some less mystical brand.

Telling that to Schnitz was, duh, preaching to the choir. He located a dealer in a nearby city and ordered a new Masi road frame.

The frames, he learned, arrive from Italy primered but unpainted. The customer chooses a color and has certain decal choices. Schnitz liked the Masi 60th Anniversary decals and specified them.

He paid for his frame and waited a reasonable length of time for its arrival. When it appeared at the dealer, he drove there to pick it up and got the big surprise.

The frame did look great, painted inches-deep bright red. It didn't look so much like a Masi Gran Criterium, as the old externally lugged bikes were called. It looked GOOD, for sure, but not so much like a Masi.

As he was about to leave, the shop guy asked Schnitz conversationally if he'd ever owned a custom bike. Just one, Schnitz answered, meaning his Lighthouse.

The shop guy then said: Next time you buy a bike, you should think about a custom Mondonico. After all, he went on, pointing at Schnitz's new Masi, that's what this bike is...

Schnitz's new bike is NOT a Masi. No one at Masi, no one at the little workshop under the Vigorelli of which Schnitz has glowing memories, ever had anything to do with Schnitz's new "Masi."

The US importer who sold the bike to the dealer bought the right to use the Masi name and Masi logos. He has license to use photos of various shop-coated individuals named Masi. In order to sell "Masis," he can cite the long history of Cicli Masi.

He can do all that to sell bicycles here -- whatever bicycles he wants. They're Masis because he says they are.

We are congratulated in his ads and on his web site for our taste, for our wisdom in seeking out Masi bicycles, bicycles with a past draped in laurel leaves. Then we're sold whatever he wants to sell us.

There are also real Masis, or cottage industry Masis, or SOMEthing, coming into this country. They are called another name. Legally, you can't call THOSE bikes Masis; the "Masi" guy has that name locked up.

The "Masi" guy doesn't sell just "Masis." He also offers bikes with his own company name on them and bikes with another Italian framebuilder's name on them, plus "Masis."

Perhaps they're all made on the same jigs in the same building by the same crew. Or by smaller builders in nearby towns. Who knows. Whoever makes them, whatever they say on them, Schnitz doesn't want his. He'll never build it up, never ride it.

He feels misled. The distributor, with whom Schnitz had several helpful, friendly phone conversations, should have told him the bike was a Masi only by business agreement. Both the dealer and the distributor knew of Schnitz's personal relationship with, and loyalty to, Masi.

Schnitz didn't want a generic Italian bike. Didn't want any bike at all BUT a Masi. He thought all along he was buying one. He wasn't satisfied when the distributor assured him that Mondonico was the "spiritual heir" to Masi...

Folks I've surveyed about this murkiness fall into two categories. Half are cynical; They expect this kind of marketing, even in cycling. Others are baffled that an imitation can be sold as a true Masi -- or any other bike with a craftsman's name on it. How can that be? Or how long has it been going on?

What is a Masi, anyway? Why do we care? Aren't all bicycles pretty much the same? When we buy a "craftsman" bike, are we buying just-a-bike, or are we paying a premium for an art object, a useable, limited-production item that we may feel is somehow collectable?

Are we easily duped because we've established associations with certain products or brands, with the mysteriously established images of certain craftspersons? Are we manipulated because we're sentimental or image-conscious in a callous sales environment?

If the shop guy hadn't blabbed, would Schnitz now be riding his "Masi" happily down Pacific northwest roads? Was ignorance bliss?

Is a "Masi" as good as a Masi? Can anyone see to the bottom of this?

END