We've all lost loves. We all love bikes. I lost three loves of the bicycle variety. I will post about them in this thread. I invite you to share yours, too.
Lost Loves (1 Viewer)
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I loved my Basque-made Razesa. Of all the bikes I have ever ridden, it fit me the best and was the most comfortable. I have ridden countless soul-less road bikes -- most owned by or on loan from others. (And most never returned, of course; sold to make ends meet, maybe a little for entertainment, at the end of the season). The Razesa was one of only three road bikes I ever purchased for myself, with my own US dollars.
The main triangle was dazzling bright blue chrome. The rear was mirror chrome, as was the fork. It was fully equipped with Record -- polished aluminum dome-like C-Record crank concealing the fifth chainring bolt under the arm. Record calipers -- no deltas, and a smooth as butter friction Record der. set. 52/42 chainrings, 12-23 cluster: no poozies. Selle Concor saddle, with that subtle lifted tail that pushed back when called-in. SLX tubing shafts disappearing into ornate chromed hand-cut lugs.
I also loved my 1972 240-Z. Amazing gum-colored rubbery headliner. The smell of Japanese cabin materials -- back when even the plastic parts were high quality, all the way down to economy rides, like a B-210. Wherever that car is, I'll bet it still smells the same. The rear hatch window shaded by thick black aluminum louvers, barely enabling the AC (with its pounding York compressor) to keep up with the heat. Almost. I worked hard for that car. I worked hard on that car. I was not a parent-funded brat. I sacrificed for the important things.
I installed a Yakima drip-rail rack (1A towers) on the hatch to haul the bike. The bike, tucked somewhat into the car's draft, front wheel windmilling next the the frame on the rack fork, was magnificent to behold. Like the space shuttle piggy-backing the 747.
But my parents lived in a pretty shady neighborhood back then. My dad still does. One day I went over there. I planned to leave their house to make a 5:00 ride with a group that started from a place on that side of town. I did not mount the Razesa on the rack. Instead, I opened the hatch, inserted the bike, covered it with a blanket, and closed the hatch. I parked on the curb in front of my parents house at about 11:00 in the morning, locked the car, and went inside.
I was inside my parents house till around 4:00 in the afternoon. When I came outside to head over to the ride, my car was not there. My parents lived on a hill, so I took off running towards the bottom of the hill, assuming that I had not put the car in gear and had not set the parking brake. I was terrified of the damage I would find.
But I found no damage. Indeed, I found no car. Someone had stolen my car in the middle of the day. The rest of the day was not spent drafting and attacking but rather filling up police reports. And, to be honest, crying a bit. It's crazy how the body and brain take over from rationality when s*** comes at you completely out of the blue and rocks things the f*** up. This was the first soul-crushing thing like that for me, so nothing about me knew how to handle it. You feel foolish and wish you could react differently, but it doesn't matter. It just happens.
A few days later, the police recovered the car in the sketchiest of the city's sketchy neighborhoods. The thieves had hooned it completely out of oil but probably only abandoned it because finally it ran out of gas, not because the engine was roasted. They had hit something with the hood. I did some more sacrificing and replaced the hood with one from another car. A different color, of course. I paid for a new engine and helped a guy I went to high school with install it for me. It was from a 280Z, so bonus: I got fuel injection. And then drove that car with the wallowed-out keyhole on the driver side door and the mismatched hood for the next 6 years. Wish I still had it.
I never saw the bike again.
The main triangle was dazzling bright blue chrome. The rear was mirror chrome, as was the fork. It was fully equipped with Record -- polished aluminum dome-like C-Record crank concealing the fifth chainring bolt under the arm. Record calipers -- no deltas, and a smooth as butter friction Record der. set. 52/42 chainrings, 12-23 cluster: no poozies. Selle Concor saddle, with that subtle lifted tail that pushed back when called-in. SLX tubing shafts disappearing into ornate chromed hand-cut lugs.
I also loved my 1972 240-Z. Amazing gum-colored rubbery headliner. The smell of Japanese cabin materials -- back when even the plastic parts were high quality, all the way down to economy rides, like a B-210. Wherever that car is, I'll bet it still smells the same. The rear hatch window shaded by thick black aluminum louvers, barely enabling the AC (with its pounding York compressor) to keep up with the heat. Almost. I worked hard for that car. I worked hard on that car. I was not a parent-funded brat. I sacrificed for the important things.
I installed a Yakima drip-rail rack (1A towers) on the hatch to haul the bike. The bike, tucked somewhat into the car's draft, front wheel windmilling next the the frame on the rack fork, was magnificent to behold. Like the space shuttle piggy-backing the 747.
But my parents lived in a pretty shady neighborhood back then. My dad still does. One day I went over there. I planned to leave their house to make a 5:00 ride with a group that started from a place on that side of town. I did not mount the Razesa on the rack. Instead, I opened the hatch, inserted the bike, covered it with a blanket, and closed the hatch. I parked on the curb in front of my parents house at about 11:00 in the morning, locked the car, and went inside.
I was inside my parents house till around 4:00 in the afternoon. When I came outside to head over to the ride, my car was not there. My parents lived on a hill, so I took off running towards the bottom of the hill, assuming that I had not put the car in gear and had not set the parking brake. I was terrified of the damage I would find.
But I found no damage. Indeed, I found no car. Someone had stolen my car in the middle of the day. The rest of the day was not spent drafting and attacking but rather filling up police reports. And, to be honest, crying a bit. It's crazy how the body and brain take over from rationality when s*** comes at you completely out of the blue and rocks things the f*** up. This was the first soul-crushing thing like that for me, so nothing about me knew how to handle it. You feel foolish and wish you could react differently, but it doesn't matter. It just happens.
A few days later, the police recovered the car in the sketchiest of the city's sketchy neighborhoods. The thieves had hooned it completely out of oil but probably only abandoned it because finally it ran out of gas, not because the engine was roasted. They had hit something with the hood. I did some more sacrificing and replaced the hood with one from another car. A different color, of course. I paid for a new engine and helped a guy I went to high school with install it for me. It was from a 280Z, so bonus: I got fuel injection. And then drove that car with the wallowed-out keyhole on the driver side door and the mismatched hood for the next 6 years. Wish I still had it.
I never saw the bike again.
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Wow. Very cool story, though the love lost…. I have many of those in my life of things and people….
Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for sharing.
Brings back memories of my Cinelli frame set I had built out with Cramp-n-go-slo Super Record components (no diss on Campagnolo, we always came up with funny names for bike part companies). It was anthracite grey with chromed lugs. Then I went to work at Fat City Cycles for four years in the glory days and riding in on a lugged frame bike was verboten at the time.
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Lol we called it that, too. I'm totally function/form when it comes to components (yeah, Shimano it is), but Record/Super Record is my favorite groupset ever, from an esthetic POV. That crucifix of a crank is pure peak. Your Cinelli must have been a sight
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My second loss was the replacement for the first. I bought a Ciocc mutt (Nuovo Record except for DA shifter group) for like $10 and a bag of chips from a guy who wasn't using it. A few years later I left it locked with a U-lock right here.
I came out a couple hours later, and it was gone. I was pretty surprised: I had left my biohazard stinkpot Sidis clipped in to the pedals. Whoever stole it is probably still washing their hands. PFuckers.
I came out a couple hours later, and it was gone. I was pretty surprised: I had left my biohazard stinkpot Sidis clipped in to the pedals. Whoever stole it is probably still washing their hands. PFuckers.
i lost ten bikes (family of 5 so not all mine) in a fire two were brand new canyons i had just bought for my wife and I. we had ridden them once. they were just excellent fitting bikes but hadn’t had time to make memories with them but they were our first high end bikes we’d ever decided to buy. two of the others were bikes my kids were riding. one was a giant iguana and the other a norco Sasquatch. while not overly special bikes in any way they had sentimental value as they were the bikes my wife (girlfriend at the time) and i had ridden across canada on. we had modified them to make them capable of carrying all our gear as we were unsupported the whole way. we went from vancouver to halifax in 62 days such good memories. the fire consumed everything except the chain and rings.
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P
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The last one: Light blue Vitus with Dura Ace. Fun bike. My intramural softball team* was playing at the 51st Street and Guadalupe fields, so I rode over to the game from my place nearby. I leaned the bike against the bleacher side of the backstop.
We were playing our most hated rival, which happened to be made up of a bunch of our closets friends. There had been a lot of trash talk all week, so pretty much everyone else we knew was there, too. And a homeless guy sprawled in the stands, passed out next to his bottle.
We were probably in the 2d or 3d inning when the bum woke up. A couple innings later I was pitching when the bum jumped up, grabbed the bike, and headed for the field gate. He had a head start, but every single person on both teams and in the stands started running after the guy, and we were closing fast.
He made it out the gate, where we kind of bottle-necked in pursuit. He threw a leg over and did a rolling saddle-up in the parking lot. But I had left it in the 53/12. He was not prepared for that and looked like a Chinese commuter going up Mt. Ventoux.
We were closing, but he was gaining momentum. There were 5 or six pursuers ahead of me and it looked to me -- maybe 10 paces back -- that one of the guys would grab the bum. But he missed, and we were flagging.
But then Derek (from the other team, and a recent Texas Relays qualifier) shot past us at the speed of holeeeefuuuck. Caught him! And pushed him so hard the bum death wobbled and nearly high-sided. But that drunk pile of stink saved it and rode off into the night.
A couple months later the Austin cops called and told me to meet them at a pawn shop. Apparently the bum had pawned it within minutes of the theft, but the shop called-in the serial number on the deadline. So I showed up and identified the body. It was in perfect condition -- maybe cleaner than when it was stolen. When I reached for it to wheel it out, the cop told me that he had to take it to the property room and tag it, and he would release it to me there. OK, no sweat. See you there.
He opened the trunk (Crown Vic back then, the age of the SUV hadn't yet arrived) and put the bike in. Something resisted the trunk lid when he lowered it, and before I could get, "Whoa! You'll bend it!" out of my mouth, he raised the lid a few inches and slammed it shut. After all of that, I recovered a bike with a seat stay crushed in the shape of a Ford trunk hinge
* We had a team name guaranteed to prevent our betters from taunting or, really, even speaking about defeating us. We were called "Off in My Sister's Bedroom"
We were playing our most hated rival, which happened to be made up of a bunch of our closets friends. There had been a lot of trash talk all week, so pretty much everyone else we knew was there, too. And a homeless guy sprawled in the stands, passed out next to his bottle.
We were probably in the 2d or 3d inning when the bum woke up. A couple innings later I was pitching when the bum jumped up, grabbed the bike, and headed for the field gate. He had a head start, but every single person on both teams and in the stands started running after the guy, and we were closing fast.
He made it out the gate, where we kind of bottle-necked in pursuit. He threw a leg over and did a rolling saddle-up in the parking lot. But I had left it in the 53/12. He was not prepared for that and looked like a Chinese commuter going up Mt. Ventoux.
We were closing, but he was gaining momentum. There were 5 or six pursuers ahead of me and it looked to me -- maybe 10 paces back -- that one of the guys would grab the bum. But he missed, and we were flagging.
But then Derek (from the other team, and a recent Texas Relays qualifier) shot past us at the speed of holeeeefuuuck. Caught him! And pushed him so hard the bum death wobbled and nearly high-sided. But that drunk pile of stink saved it and rode off into the night.
A couple months later the Austin cops called and told me to meet them at a pawn shop. Apparently the bum had pawned it within minutes of the theft, but the shop called-in the serial number on the deadline. So I showed up and identified the body. It was in perfect condition -- maybe cleaner than when it was stolen. When I reached for it to wheel it out, the cop told me that he had to take it to the property room and tag it, and he would release it to me there. OK, no sweat. See you there.
He opened the trunk (Crown Vic back then, the age of the SUV hadn't yet arrived) and put the bike in. Something resisted the trunk lid when he lowered it, and before I could get, "Whoa! You'll bend it!" out of my mouth, he raised the lid a few inches and slammed it shut. After all of that, I recovered a bike with a seat stay crushed in the shape of a Ford trunk hinge
* We had a team name guaranteed to prevent our betters from taunting or, really, even speaking about defeating us. We were called "Off in My Sister's Bedroom"
2015 Surly Ogre. The only bike I've bought brand new. Hung a bunch of cool parts on it, along with my favorite old Brooks B17. Got divorced and basically kept the bike, my 2002 Tacoma, and the kids 50% of the time, moved into a new house, and the third week I was there the garage door was pried open one morning ... bike was gone.
Up past Gothic, Colorado, beyond the town of Crested Butted. Sorry for the non-drive-side photo.
Up past Gothic, Colorado, beyond the town of Crested Butted. Sorry for the non-drive-side photo.
Well, you never forget your first love…Some kind of Black Huffy single speed coaster brake model, chain link looking treads on the tires, chrome front and rear fenders. It was my first two wheeler. First grade through maybe 6th grade. Took forever to find my balance. Dang, I was on those training wheels a long time.
I rode that bike every where in my town 1968ish-1974. Frankly, I got too big for it and was time to move on to a 10 speed. I can’t really remember what happened to the bike, but I never forgot it, either.
Really, that bike was the foundation to my riding life. I’ve never been off one since, and probably have gone through another dozen, mostly mountain bikes.
I’ll be 63 this summer, the most fit ever, looking forward to many more years of rubber side down.
Thanks, Huffy!
I rode that bike every where in my town 1968ish-1974. Frankly, I got too big for it and was time to move on to a 10 speed. I can’t really remember what happened to the bike, but I never forgot it, either.
Really, that bike was the foundation to my riding life. I’ve never been off one since, and probably have gone through another dozen, mostly mountain bikes.
I’ll be 63 this summer, the most fit ever, looking forward to many more years of rubber side down.
Thanks, Huffy!
Wow! Never knew anyone that went through anything like that with bikes and vehicles.
Back in the day, Campy Record was sweet. And on a Razesa.
It's hard to explain to people who don't ride what it's like to have a bike like that, and one that fits you perfectly.
Somebodyelse5
16124-75030
I sold this Ti Salsa El Mar a few years back with a Chris King cog in the back that my dad had given me. I kick myself pretty often for not at least swapping that cog off.
I would have ultimately ditched this bike for a 29er, but I should have kept it longer. It was a blast and the spec was in the sweet spot:
It was the right move to sell, but it was still a rocket to ride... if I'm going to die in the street it's going to be on a liter bike, not in tights:
Ritchey Road Logic 2.0. This thing weighed about 16.2 lbs with pedals.....
and a shot with my old 100 just because:
I would have ultimately ditched this bike for a 29er, but I should have kept it longer. It was a blast and the spec was in the sweet spot:
It was the right move to sell, but it was still a rocket to ride... if I'm going to die in the street it's going to be on a liter bike, not in tights:
Ritchey Road Logic 2.0. This thing weighed about 16.2 lbs with pedals.....
and a shot with my old 100 just because:
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