Tag Archives: Gios Torino

Apis Rain Jacket Looks Great and Wears Like a 1970s Original, Just Don’t Get the Graphics Wet


This is, what I hope will be, the first of many product reviews of the small-but-growing number of retro and reproduction products currently being produced by the cycling industry. I’ve put together a fairly long and complete list of the products I’d like to test (short-term and longterm) and review here. I’ve been reaching out to the suppliers, requesting products for review. So far, as you might expect since I have no history of reviewing products here (I did some in a past life.), few items have been forthcoming. Although, there are some really nice things on the way. As a result, I’m going to start reviewing items I purchased for personal use.

Brooklyn Chewing Gum Rain Jacket

Manufacturer: Apis (www.apis-italia.it); U.S. Seller: SRM Trading (www.bikebag.com)

Country of Origin: Italy

Purchased From: Maxrun (SRM Trading) on eBay (Castro Valley, CA)

Test Period: One Day

Price: US$40

Last winter, I bought a reproduction Apis-made, Brooklyn Chewing Gum Team rain jacket to round out my collection of Brooklyn gear and to be prepared for bad weather at the 2018 Eroica California. We get very little rain here in Southern California, but the jacket was so cool, and looked a lot like those I’ve seen in photos and films from the 1970s, I couldn’t pass it up.

I bought if off eBay from Castro Valley, California-based seller Maxrun. He also sells Apis rain jackets for the Molteni (white), Renault/Gitane (yellow) and Jollj Ceramica (black) teams, as well as Apis cycling caps and musette bags.


I bought an Apis Brooklyn Chewing Gum rain jacket (upper right) to round out my Brooklyn gear collection and so I’d be prepared for bad weather at Eroica California 2018.

When I received the jacket, my initial thought echoed Maxrun’s recommendation to buy the jacket one size smaller than your normal jacket/jersey size. I typically wear a large jersey, but sometimes have to go with an XL. Although I was losing weight and planned to slim down more by Eroica CA a few months in the future, I worried about the jacket being tight over warm or layered kit. I should have heeded his advice. The large I ordered was quite roomy and the sleeves too long.

Other than the fit, the quality was nice. It felt very much like a piece from the 1970s. In fact, it reminded me a lot of the waterproof, nylon running suit I purchased around 1980.

The jacket’s seams were solid, but not taped. The waterproof, PVC-coated nylon seemed to be of a high quality. The single-color, screen-printed, Brooklyn logos on the front and rear were clean and accurate. A long drop-tail was the same as the jackets I’d seen Eddy Merckx and Roger De Vlaeminck wearing in photos and would offer extra coverage. An unsealed brass zipper and collar snap added to the vintage feel of the jacket and both worked well. The bright-blue nylon was a nice match to the blue of my Brooklyn jerseys.


The Apis rain jacket is a lot like this one worn by Roger De Vlaeminck in 1981/2. Both have a long drop-tail to keep your rump clean(ish). Photo Credit: Unknown

Taking it for a Ride

Southern California has been in the midst of a drought for several years, so the jacket hung in my closet for several months before I was able to use it. I put it on for a 50-mile (80-kilometer) vintage ride that began with me rolling through dense fog and a little bit of light rain. The temp was in the mid-40s Fahrenheit (around 8º C.).

Moisture from the fog and rain beaded up on and rolled off the surface of the Apis jacket as I made my way up the coast. And, as you might expect from a jacket made using the materials of 1970s raingear—PVC-coated nylon in this case—there was no breathability. I spent much of my ride with the zipper pulled down about six to eight inches (15-20 cm), allowing cool air to circulate inside the jacket and keep me from overheating.

Just as it would have been for the boys in the peloton back in the 1970s, the lack of breathability may be bearable during very cold rainy or snowy days, but even then you are likely going to sweat more than usual during vigorous riding. When the temps and humidity are higher, however, you may be better off riding jacket-free once you get your core temp up. Either way, this jacket will give you a legitimate 1970s experience.


The Apis rain jackets are a close facsimile to this original Molteni rain jacket. One detail overlooked by Apis, however, is the Velcro closure. The original also lacks a logo on the front. Photo credit: Unknown


The much faded logo appears to indicate that the inks of the 1970s may have been similar to those used by Apis. That may have been acceptable then, but not now. Photo credit: Unknown


It was clear that the large-size jacket I bought was a bad choice as soon as I got on the Santa Ana River bike path and turned into a headwind coming off the Pacific Ocean. The extra fabric flapped freely and loudly in the wind. The flapping was such that the jacket’s drop-tail spent more time sticking straight out than hanging down. The bottom five inches of my jersey were streaked black at the end of my ride. Lesson learned.

At about 20 miles, the sun came out. I got hot quickly and I took off the jacket. It packs fairly small and fit easily into the pocket of a wool jersey. I finished the ride without needing it again.

Keep it Dry

When I got home, I hung up the still-damp jacket to dry. Despite spending several hours in a pocket, the back was still splattered with fine, black, road grit.

When I got around to washing the jacket a few weeks later, I checked the labels for washing instructions. There were none. I erred on the side of caution and tossed it in the washing machine with other cycling gear. as usual, I set the water temp on cold, chose the extra-gentle cycle, limited the wash cycle to four minutes and added a small amount of Woolite laundry detergent.

When I opened the washing machine later, I saw small white flakes covering all the clothing inside. I thought maybe I had run the load with a forgotten tissue or an old receipt left in a pocket. When I pulled the jacket out, I immediately understood that the white flakes were the ink from the silk screen-printed graphics. The once large, white logos had almost completely washed off.

Although I half expected the logos to come out of the washer cracked, as they might have back in the 1970s, for them to completely wash off was shocking. I know for a fact there are washable and flexible inks available that would easily survive numerous washings.


After wearing the jacket only once and a single wash in cold water, on the extra-gentle cycle for four minutes and with Woolite, all the logos washed off.


Customer Service?

I reached out to Maxrun, the seller on eBay, before leaving feedback, which would certainly be negative. I discovered, however, I waited too long to leave feedback and the item was no longer on my Purchases list.

In what may seem like an unlikely move, I ordered a second jacket in medium size and, at the same time, reached out to Maxrun and requested a refund on the first one. If he failed to issue one, I thought, I’d leave negative feedback on the new jacket, which, I planned to never wash.

Maxrun got back to me quickly and asked for more information that he could the Apis, the manufacturer. It took more than three months to get a second reply from him. In it, he wrote:

“I did run this by the manufacture in Italy and they were not very apologetic about it all. They said hand wash in cold water only, liquid detergent. I tried it on my jacket, as well, and the logo washed off very easily. That really sucks. I don’t sell many of these, thank God, but now I need to always include a warning for washing them.”

Maxrun asked what I’d like him to do, suggesting he send me another jacket. I explained that I had already purchased a second jacket several months prior and didn’t need one. I asked for a refund for one of the jackets. Although he never replied to my request for a refund, we exchanged several more emails. In one, he further explained the attitude of the folks at Apis.

“Apis is a very traditional company in Italy. There are some caps, like the La vie Claire, that also do not handle washing well. They tell me it can’t be fixed and they have been doing it that way for 70 years…Oh, and only Americans complain so much,” he wrote.

While I have yet to wear the second jacket, I have noticed that some of the ink has already flaked off. I assume this happened because I’ve been storing it balled up in a musette bag since I got home from Eroica CA in April. The ink Apis uses obviously lacks flexibility, as well as waterproofness. This may have been acceptable 70 years ago, but there are plenty of modern inks available that work well on materials like nylon. I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that most consumers today would expect the logos, arguably a big reason for buying the jacket or cap in the first place, to hold up to normal use.

Reaching Out to Apis

Apis is perhaps best known as the most famous Italian maker of cycling caps. Many professional team caps made since the 1980s until now have the Apis lable sewn inside. It also produces a range of safety and work clothing, promotional clothing, banners and musette bags.

I reached out to the company via the email address listed on its website. I told them I was following up on a problem previously reported to them and was writing review. I asked them to comment, sent some other questions and gave them a deadline for a reply. As of July 27, 2018, I had not heard back. When/If I do get a response, I will post it here.

According to the Apis website, the company strives to be responsive to its customers’ needs and is always working to improve its products.

“For 60 years we have been telling you, through our caps, the history of cycling teams all over the world. Our curiosity and aim to improve ourselves had made us become a trustful partner of many teams and cycling companies in the world.

“To us every customer is special and needs a special care. We have always tried to catch all the particular needs of our customer in order to offer them prompt and proper solutions. Thanks to our skills and “Know How” we have developed since 30 years the safety-work department.At first we do a punctual selection of suppliers and row materials and go on supporting our customer step by step to turn his ideas into the product,” the Apis website reads.  —MG


The Good: Generally a nice, high-quality jacket with a cut and materials that feel very authentic to the 1970s. Very waterproof, although I was unable to ride in heavy rain, so I didn’t thoroughly test the unsealed/uncovered zipper. 

The Bad: Despite being a rain jacket to be used when it’s wet outside, the ink used to silk-screen print the logos is not waterproof. Neither is it very durable. It tends to flake when the jacket has been balled up—as when stored in a jersey pocket. Cracking and flaking logos, however, add to the jacket’s vintage authenticity. Not being waterproof and washing off, however, are not cool. Waterproof nylon is not breathable and it doesn’t take long to sweat profusely and overheat while wearing the jacket during a spring or summer rain. Be cautious when choosing a size. They run large. The eBay seller I bought mine from recommended going down one size. I would agree.

Fun Factoid: The first breathable, waterproof and windproof Gore-Tex clothing hit the market in 1976. The first Gore-Tex clothing with taped and sealed seams hit in 1979.




I Like Old Bikes, I Cannot Lie


It’s funny how often people disapprovingly comment or take lighthearted jabs at me for riding vintage road bikes and wearing retro and vintage gear.

“Dude, you really need to get into the 21st century,” they say.

Or, “Michael doesn’t own any bikes made after 1975. He hates new technology,” they’ll comment to those around us.

My sister recently checked in with me to see if I was “okay” after I posted the first of my vintage road bike portraits and a series of pics of my bikes and vintage shoes on FaceBook.

“I know you love retro stuff. You always have. I just think you should start making your own designs real and use them. It appears that you give credit to the past. It’s confusing,” she wrote in a concerned text message.

I don’t take it personally. Nor do I take offense. I see where they’re coming from.

But none of these comments, nor many of the others, are correct. For one, I do own several road and BMX bikes made in the 1980 and 1990s.

Joking aside, I own and have owned and have been the designer/product manager on a number of modern carbon fiber road, mountain and cyclocross bikes. I also designed and produced dozens of modern and innovative BMX components between 2012 and 2015.

And, in fact, I agree 100-percent with my cycling friends—performance-wise, comfort-wise, almost-every-way-wise, the new stuff is far superior to the old.

But that’s not the point.

To start with, much of what makes modern stuff so good only matters in the context of racing and being competitive as a racer. (Just talking high-end road racing machines. Not going to even touch e-bikes, comfort bikes, etc.) I am no longer a racer and harbor relatively little interest in ever being one again. But road racing is in my soul and I don’t want to, nor can I, let it go.

No doubt, comfort and convenience are great no matter the type of riding. But I find a certain pleasure (perhaps perverse pleasure) in riding outside my comfort zone. One of the things I’ve always liked about cycling is the suffering. And overcoming the suffering. Yes, you can suffer on a sick carbon road bike. But there is a difference between suffering on an old bike and new one.

Riding With Old Legs and Lungs

Now that I no longer have the desire (nor legs and lungs) to climb at 90+ percent of my VO2 max, it’s too easy to sit down and spin up a climb on a 15-pound bike in a modern 36-28 gear. But on any of my 21-pound Campagnolo Nuovo or Super Record-equipped bikes, I’m stuck with climbing in a 41-tooth chainring (I put either vintage Campy or modern T.A. 41-tooth chainrings on all my 144 BCD bikes.) with either a 24, 26 or 28-tooth cog in the back (depending on the bike).

I don’t climb fast, but I do climb with suffering. And, in my head, I look just like Eddy Merckx or Roger de Vlaeminck while doing it—body rocking, pushing down with all my mite on the pedals, occasionally standing to get a little extra oommff out of my legs.

And the more I do it, as with anything, the better I am at it. The climbing with a big gear, that is. The suffering, too, I guess. As Greg LeMond has been quoted, “It never gets easier. You just go faster.”

Since most of my riding is done solo, I don’t have much experience sprinting on vintage bikes. So, I can’t really talk about that. Although, they do feel quite a bit whippier than modern carbon rigs. To this day, I have no idea how Sean Kelly was able to win so many sprints on those Vitus bikes he rode all those years.

But I digress.

For me, riding bikes now is more about getting outside, exercising, enjoying the feel of the road beneath me, the wind in my hair (Yep, sometimes I leave my helmet at home. I know, I know.) and, maybe most important, rekindling the romance I used to associate with cycling so many years ago—and still do associate with cycling before clipless pedals, aluminum frames, STI shifters, mandatory helmet rules (A very good idea, by the way.), Lycra clothing, radios, EPO and “marginal gains”.

Clinging to the Past

Watching Jøergen Leth films like A Sunday In Hell (L’Enfer Du Nord) or Stars and Water Carriers, I have such huge admiration for the men of the peloton in the 1970s and before. They were strong, hard men. They knew how to suffer and how to make others suffer. The bikes were heavier, harder to ride, far less ergonomic, yet they rode with so much soul. The clothing was less comfortable, although wool is a fantastic jersey fabric. And the training and dietary methods were arcane and not nearly up to the task. I still am amazed that they raced and rode as hard as they did.

When I ride now, as I did 20 years ago, I think about these guys—Eddy, Roger, Franceso Moser, Bernard Hinault, Sean Kelly, Claude Criquielion and Greg. I still want to be like them.

I watch and follow modern racing, of course. I never miss a race when it’s on TV. I still love it. I have lots of races from the past few years stored on our DVR.

But I no longer relate to what road racers do on their bikes. They are machines, robots, relying on technology (mechanical, nutritional and chemical) to produce inhuman race results. They never seem to tire. And so few of them ride with panache. Peter Sagan is the obvious exception here.

I Won’t Apologize for My Nostalgia

Yesterday, I hopped on one of my modern bikes—a 2012 carbon fiber Redline cyclocross bike. It was the first time since August that I rode a modern bike. (I currently own only two modern bikes. But not by choice or design. After losing my job at Airborne, I lost all my Airborne protoypes, among them two carbon road bikes, one with disc brakes and a carbon full-suspension 29er.)

At first, the bike felt odd. The oversize brake hoods were in an unfamiliar place. My feet danced around insecurely on the clipless pedals. And the carbon fiber of the frame, bars and rims absorbed nearly all the road vibration.

Soon, however, I felt at home on the bike. Shifting was easier. The tiny gaps between the 11 cogs were welcome when looking for the right gear as I went from headwind to tail and up the short steeps on my route. The pillow-like brake hoods were a joy. And the instant acceleration you get out of a combination of a carbon fiber frame, bars and wheels, modern hollow-forged cranks and stiff carbon-soled shoes blew away any of my vintage steel road bikes.

I felt faster, smoother, more powerful. I’m pretty sure I had a big grin on my face as I raced back home.

Modern bikes are fantastic. And amazing. And awesome. And soooo much better than anything that came out of Italy in 1975. I can’t argue that.

But I still like, no, love, riding my old bikes. And I am unapologetically nostalgic about it.

I love riding old bikes because they challenge me without making me feel like an inferior (old) cyclist. They test me in ways I haven’t been tested in years. They bring back fond memories and associations I have with the past and my youth. I also find great pleasure in the bikes’ simplicity in design and form.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put on my costume of wool jersey, wool shorts with real chamois, vintage Rodania watch, crocheted gloves, cycling cap and dainty leather shoes; fill up a single water bottle and hop on either my 1973 Brooklyn Team Gios, 1979 Gios Super Record or 1980 Colnago Roger de Vlaeminck and head out on a ride, spare tubular tucked under the saddle and a couple of fig jam and ham sandwiches in my back pocket—right next to my cell phone, which will be powering Strava.