Think back about a month or so, and you might recall the C-01, Lotus's

striking superbike. No, it's not a true Lotus; the company just licensed its name and a handful of brand cache to a

collaboration between German motorsport firms Kodewa and the Holzer Group. That's not to detract from the bike; it's a beautiful thing with a design that

evokes both the futurism of Tron's Lightcycles and the

wrought-with-meaning fuselage of a Supermarine Spitfire. I'm sure it goes nicely, too. But no matter how you spin it, it's a Lotus in name only. In fact,

it isn't even the first two-wheeler to wear a Lotus badge. It isn't even the second.

Those honors would go to the Lotus Sport 108 and 110, a pair of advanced carbon-fiber bicycles produced in the early 1990s. The latter was a compromised

road-going affair whose manufacture was shopped out to British Eagle (essentially the Huffy of England). The former, however, was the real deal: a

world-record-smashing, high-tech, track-only masterpiece that Lotus made all on its own—sort of.

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Mike Burrows, an efficiency-minded bicycle designer who has dedicated his life to the ruthless pursuit of lighter weights and lower drag coefficients, is

responsible for the original concept. The bike's outrageous style was a happy byproduct of Burrows's functional design: "My unique thing was to understand

the aerodynamic potential [of a monocoque design], I didn't base the design on structure … There had been early attempts at a monocoque design, riveted

aluminum, renderings for injected molded plastic. Porsche Design had come up with a concept using Fiberlam board. I used to fly model airplanes and race

cars, so I understood aerodynamics; that was my concern, not structure."

Burrows's attempts to sell his design to a manufacturer were met with confusion. They didn't seem to understand what they were looking at. To make matters

worse, the UCI (Union Cycliste International, the cycling world's equivalent to the FIA) banned monocoque designs for competition, citing a desire to keep

the sport competitive. Still, Burrows wasn't ready to quit. He continued to refine the bike, abandoning the splayed front and rear forks in favor of its

signature 'mono-blade' design, a cantilever setup that mated to the wheels on only one side.

Lotus

In 1991 a restructuring of the UCI's regulations resulted in a new set of dimensional and geometric rules that effectively reopened the door for monocoque

designs. By happenstance, former Formula 2 racer and Lotus test driver Rudy Thomann had stumbled upon Burrows's design while visiting his shop. An avid

cyclist, and by most accounts the entrepreneurial sort, Thomann brought Burrows's bicycle to the attention of the board at Lotus.

The project was a natural fit; Lotus's knowledge of aerodynamics and advanced composites made them the logical choice for development. Better yet, Great

Britain had their first hope for cycling gold in 72 years in Chris Boardman, a promising young athlete and the only threat to the World Champion at the time, Jens

Lehmann.

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The project was on, but only if they could get the British Cycling Federation and their star rider on board. In the end, the Federation needed little

convincing; the prospect of cycling gold being won by a British man on a British bike—no less a groundbreaking, high-tech British bike—was too enticing a

PR coup to pass up.

The BCF's chief concern was the UCI's ruler-and-protractor-wielding minions. According to Burrows, the UCI makes the FIA look like tech at a 24 Hours of

LeMons race. UCI regulations stipulated that a design had to be used in international competition at least once before the Olympics, but there was significant

concern that radical design would attract too much attention in the care of superstar Boardman.

Lotus

The solution, as Burrows kindly explained in motorsport terminology, was to use the "smaller engine," meaning Lotus's first track-ready prototype was

given to another British cyclist, Bryan Steel, for use in a World Cup qualifying event. When it appeared at the competition, it enticed significant

interest from the other teams, but the UCI scrutineer paid it little attention. He weighed, measured, and passed it, in effect greenlighting it for use in

the Olympics­­­­­. Their little trick had worked.

Between the bike's debut in May and the Barcelona Olympics, Lotus made a good show of the striking design. They attracted a great deal of media attention

by bringing a serious motorsport ethic to the cycling word, breaking down and rebuilding the bike in its entirety between runs. Rudy Thomann once famously

delivered the bicycle to a competition in the South of France in a pre-production Esprit Turbo S2. Good show, indeed.

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That isn't to say the bike was ready for the Olympics from the start. Lotus aerodynamicist and project lead Richard Hill was faced with a serious challenge

when wind tunnel testing showed sub-par results. With Boardman astride, Burrows's prototype proved less aerodynamic than a traditional space frame design.

"Conceptually, Burrows's design was all there," said Hill. "There was tremendous potential for both reducing drag in a zero-yaw position as well as generating

thrust during ideal cross-wind situations." Lotus got the results they were looking for with a handful of design changes and Boardman's adoption of a

radical new riding position. During a practice session at Barcelona, Boardman shattered the 4-km world record by 4 seconds.

The design proved its worth a few days later, when Boardman famously caught World Champion Lehmann in the 4-km Men's Pursuit, winning Britain's

first cycling gold in 72 years.

In the aftermath of Boardman's astounding victory, the media spotlight descended upon Lotus and Burrows. As is expected when individuals of such talent and

vision collaborate, there remains a palpable difference in opinion as to who was more important to the design, Burrows or Hill. Still, speaking to both

parties confirms no ill will, just different recollections of the past. Everyone seems to have gotten the exposure they wanted: Burrows parlaying his

newfound notoriety into a lucrative design partnership with Giant Bicycles; Lotus further cementing themselves into Great Britain's rich history of

being very, very fast and very, very stylish.

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But as the memory of a victory fades and the glory of Lotus's association resolves into the background of their brand identity, what are we left with?

Pure and simple: the bike. Like a vintage race car held in suspended animation in a museum, we have an object of admiration that has outlasted its own

relevance—a beautiful, functional design with a ruthlessly fast aura. The first two-wheeled Lotus.

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