This is the second part of my biking story. Read Part 1 How I became obsessed.
Once I had my bike and was riding regularly I thought things might slow down on the excitement side. They didn’t. Once you’ve got a bike you start learning about parts. Pedals, tires, tubes, brake pads, racks, handlebars, cloth tape, cork tape, leather tape, bells, baskets, and most of all bags (You already know about my interest in bags). There are any number of places you can go online to check this stuff out. And there are a few different camps that people find themselves in. There is the “fast, faster, fastest” road bike racing camp. There is the extreme mountain biking camp. There is the fixie camp. The dutch-style city bike camp. There is the country bike camp. That last camp could also affectionately be referred to as “retro-grouch”, with tweed, odd-sized wheels, and comfort being essential elements. I found myself pretty squarely in that camp. I’m not interested in skin-tight gear and don’t have the need for speed. I’m not a bike messenger (although I must admit, a fixed gear bike is very intriguing as a secondary bicycle), and since I have limited means versatility is a plus (out goes the fixie, out goes the dutch style, out goes the bakfietsen).
My friend Nicholas had two bikes from Rivendell Bicycle Works: the Atlantis, and the Quickbeam. Right away I loved their style. A lot of information in their catalogues (information I appreciated as a newcomer), Rivendell Readers (quarterly-ish magazine with lots of stories), and the website. And of course, the quality of their product is off the charts. I had always been fairly intimidated about going into bike shops, because I didn’t know anything about bikes. And they all seemed like a club I didn’t know the secret password to. Then here was this company with a ton of information, a philosophy that made sense to me, and an attitude that was inclusive and friendly to the non-expert. I was hooked. I decked out my Centurion with king grip pedals, moustache handlebars, Plescher rack, and Baggins bags.
Of course, I spent way too much time online picking out my dream bike. Carefully reading the benefits of each frame, determining my PBH (or as Meg says, measuring my crotch), deciding between two equally appropriate sizes. Wheel size, color, name, head badge. Everything was taken into account. Nicholas had the Atlantis, so that was out. Something about the Saluki just didn’t speak to me. Mixte, no thanks (not for another forty years I hope). Cyclo-cross, not me. It really came down to the Bleriot and the A. Homer Hilsen. The Bleriot (which has since been replaced by the brand spankin’ new Sam Hillborne) had all the elements, set-up, and thought that go into a Rivendell with a reduced price tag due to construction in Taiwan as opposed to Japan. Still a great value. But as long as I was dreaming, I figured I should aim for the stars: A. Homer Hilsen was the bike I was after. I started saving my pennies.
I picked out the tires, the handlebars, everything I could imagine. I added up the prices. I dreamed of picking my bike up in person (at RBW headquarters in Walnut Creek, CA) and taking a couple of weeks to ride it home. I dreamed and saved, but life was also happening. When you have two kids and you don’t own your home, you can’t just spend that kind of money on something like a really nice bike. As the months dragged on the time frame on my savings program seemed to get further away, not closer. The dream just wasn’t realistic for me at this point in life.
Then Nicholas came along with a proposition. He was looking to sell one of his bikes. Again this was a gradual process, did I want any of the parts off his bike? Racks, lights, baskets, wheels? Maybe he would piece one of them out. I started thinking. The price tag on the bikes was still pretty high, but not quite as high. I had a bit of money saved away. After much internal debate (and serious discussion with Meg) we decided it was within reach. A plan was worked out. The Atlantis was mine. I remember the first time I rode it. It fit right, it felt right. I’ve never been on a bike so stable and smooth. It practically stood up by itself while standing still. I showed the bike to anyone who would stop long enough and listen to me rave when I first got it. And as is the case with many great things in life, most people feigned interest as best they could and then moved on. But there are a select few who truly appreciate it. They see the bike and know what it is. I’m not the kind of person who has owned a lot of top quality things in my life. I’ve had the bike for about a half a year, I’ve paid every last penny I owed and had plently of time for buyers remorse to settle in. It hasn’t. I don’t regret it one bit.
With spring weather making occasional appearances this month, I’m looking forward to long, rambling, rides exploring the Oregon countryside. I want to ride to the coast. I want to ride to a spot to camp, I want to ride. I want to ride. I want to ride.
Tags: Bikes, rivendell, stories
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