A New Spin on How to Work Out : * Exercise: Chris Altare says his space-age gyroscope makes it easy to get into shape. And he says business is great.
From a cluttered living room-turned-laboratory in Winnetka, inventor Chris Altare is trying to satisfy the human need for exercise and the tendency for laziness. The result is a space-age contraption he calls the Orbotron, a high-tech, human-powered triaxial gyroscope designed to maximize physical benefits while minimizing effort.
Like the sound of that?
Altare thought so. He’s 42, somewhat overweight and burdened by bone spurs in his heels that make walking painful and rigorous exercise virtually impossible.
“Like everybody else, I’d join a health club, ride an exercise cycle for a while, then get bored and quit,” Altare said. “I hate exercise bicycles. I wanted to design equipment that wasn’t boring.”
What Altare designed is definitely not boring. The rider is secured to the device by a waist belt and snowboard boots and bindings. The unit is anchored, but the three rings revolve independently, with speed and direction controlled by the operator’s shifting positions. The more quickly the operator moves the arms and legs, the more intense the workout.
“There are 200 worldwide now after three years, and there will be 300 more this year,” Altare said. “With the economy the way it is, I’m very happy. A lot of businesses are not doing well, but I’m doing real well.
“It’s the best machine possible for working out the stomach muscles and lats, and it’s not repetitive. The chance of repeating the same operation is almost impossible.”
Perry Mock, manager of Q The Sports Club in Austin, Tex., said the Orbotron gives a “full-body workout. I’ve never had abdominal muscles as sore as with this thing. There’s certainly a novelty with the thing, but we have die-hard users who use it every time they are here.”
Patented in September, the Orbotron has become something of a sensation. Articles on “The 21st-Century Workout”--as Altare calls his invention--have appeared in Time and People magazines.
Meanwhile, the machine’s popularity has crossed over from fitness to amusement. It is already a staple at various space camps, which teach teen-agers about astronomy and space, including one such San Diego operation.
Susan Snyder, educational services coordinator of Aerocenter ‘92, which takes place at San Diego State University, said kids always rate the Orbotron high on the list of favorite space camp activities.
“It’s one of the high-tech tools they use,” she said. “They learn how to use their bodies in space. The kids love it.”
Kurt Fries of San Diego has a five-Orbotron business that began with a walk down the Hermosa Beach boardwalk.
“I saw one sitting there. They were selling rides, and I fell in love with it right away. Fifteen minutes later, I rode it again, and I talked to the guy operating it for an hour. A month later, I took all the money I had and bought one.”
He was sick of Los Angeles, so he moved to San Diego in 1990 because he “knew” the Orbotron would go over great there. His San Diego concession is at Belmont Park, and he has another one at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. His other Orbotrons travel to air shows.
“The honest truth is it’s hard to find something wrong with it,” said Fries, 35. “I work at the beach every day. I make lots of money and, I tell you, I still like to watch this thing. You do get an amazingly good workout on it. People think it’s just a ride, but they come off sweating. They realize the bottom line is it’s a workout.”
The sensation of weightlessness created by the machine can be experienced at Walt Disney World in Florida, and other theme parks have expressed interest. Nightclubs such as Limelight in New York City and Excalibur in Chicago have added the machines as entertainment toys.
Kevin Roszel, marketing manager of the Excalibur Club, bought the Orbotron as a promotional device for an anniversary celebration and called it “hugely successful, a real spectator device.” He is thinking about buying a second one for another club.
This is not Altare’s first invention. A self-taught physicist and entrepreneur, he takes credit for developing for the state Franchise Tax Board and federal Internal Revenue Service an X-ray machine to detect letter bombs. A spokesman for the Franchise Tax Board said it used such a device in the ‘70s but could not confirm that Altare developed it.
Altare also said he worked with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency trying to eliminate the potential for botulism contamination in canned tuna, but the project was never completed.
And he says he is developing crystals that convert nuclear waste into electrical current, hoping to finance that pursuit with profits from Orbotron sales.
Altare, who was born in Chicago, arrived in California at 14 and attended Beverly Hills High School and Los Angeles City College. He claims to have been an assistant instructor in nuclear medicine at UCLA Medical Center, although he never earned a college degree. He spent time at Stanford University before landing in the computer science department at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks.
He went to Alaska to work for an X-ray company on the oil pipeline and, while there, entered a second career in radio and television advertising. After seven years in Alaska, he returned to California to run his family’s Woodland Hills Motor Lodge when his father took ill.
The hotel was sold four years ago and Altare began his Orbotron project, which is now his business. He claims that a user can lose 15 pounds in two weeks, working the machine two minutes, twice a day.
He’s been told that some of his products have been resold under other brand names. The current fifth-generation Orbotron weighs 1,450 pounds, is more than nine feet tall, requires a trailer to transport and has been marketed to health clubs. A scaled-down home model should be available this year for about $1,800.
That’s a far cry from the current $7,500 purchase price, but even at that price the device has been successful enough to earn a spot in last year’s glitzy Neiman Marcus catalogue.
Altare concedes that foreign manufacturing could allow him to lower the price. But to assure quality, he manufactures the device at Northstar Propellers, a San Diego machine shop. Derek Bateman, vice president and general manager of Northstar, also said Altare could save money overseas but wants to build it there.
“The machines are very, very hard to build,” Altare said. “If it’s not built properly, it could be injurious.”
He thinks that the public’s biggest resistance to the Orbotron is a fear of getting dizzy.
“It’s the biggest stigma of the machine because people don’t understand how it operates,” he said. “Because it has three axes, it can’t lock into a gyro spin. You can’t get dizzy or sick. It trains the inner ear. Spend two minutes a day for 30 days and you won’t ever get seasick.”
In addition to the home version, Altare is working on a small unit for babies that would rock and rotate and could be used in place of a simple swing. He has also adapted a medical version of the machine for geriatric, Alzheimer’s and stroke patients.
Earlier this year, Altare knew that his invention was catching on when he discovered an unauthorized desktop novelty knockoff, made in Taiwan, on sale at an airport gift shop.
“Look, they call it the ‘Revolving Altair,’ ” he said, producing the cardboard container. “I’d like them to spell my name right, if nothing else.”
