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.

The other great memory I have is as a teenager. I was loosely involved in Boy Scouts and the best part of that were the summer “super activities”. Fifty mile hikes around Three Sisters, canoe trips, homemade kayaks that actually work. One year we did a hybrid activity: Rock climbing and mountain biking. We went to Smith Rock and spent three days rock climbing. On our off days we were bombing down trails on our mountain bikes. It was an adrenaline rush like no other. But it didn’t translate into anything in real life. I got home, by mountain bike sat abandoned in the garage.

Then one day in spring of 2007 I was driving my car. It was sunny outside, and I just got sick of it. I wasn’t in terrible traffic or anything. I just decided, I’m sick of driving everywhere in my car. And that’s when it all started.

I have gotten in the habit of over-researching things that I am just learning about. Meg calls it obsessing. I call it doing the homework I never did in high school. I asked friends who were serious bike people. I started living on Craigslist’s bike section, hunting garage sales, going to used bike shops, asking questions, formulating opinions, etc. One of the great moments came early on in my obsession (let’s call a spade a spade) when I was talking with my friend Nicholas. He simply explained to me how you didn’t need the singlets, spandex, body hugging, race wear. Since I didn’t know anything about anything, this was news. And good news. He sent me off to Rivendell Bicycle Works website to read, read and read some more. I learned about sizes, clothes, pedals, footwear, etc. A lot of knowledge over a short amount of time. It was motivating. I wanted a good bike, but I didn’t know what that would cost. I certainly wasn’t prepared to spend too many hundreds, let alone thousands. I balked at the price when Nicholas showed me the two bikes he owned (the Quickbeam and the Atlantis).

Then one day, Meg called me on her way to the office. She’d spotted a bike at a garage sale, I should take a look. $65 later I was the proud owner of a Centurion Le Mans, circa late 1970’s. Green.

That’s my first bike.

I figured a fixer upper was the right choice, make sure I wasn’t going to join the masses by getting really excited and then abandoning it after a few months. Anybody can enjoy riding to work in the beautiful Oregon summers. It’s the winter drudge that will turn you back into a car person. I went to work, replaced the wheels, tires and tubes, brake pads, handle bars, bar tape, brake and shifter cables, put on some bar end shifters. I did a fair amount of the work myself, which was a change for me. I’m not the handiest guy around. But a bike is simple. It’s a great place to start learning to be handy. You can figure things out, read a bit, and learn quickly.

I rode through the summer. Into the fall. It started raining, and I rode. It snowed, and I rode. Winter ‘07 turned to spring ‘08 and I was still riding. I was a serious bike commuter. I was ready for the big time.

Read Part II of my bike journey: How I lost my mind and bought the big one
GREAT BIKE WEBSITES TO CHECK OUT IN THE MEANTIME: bikeportland, velo-orange, ecovelo, ANT bikes, Clever Cycles (check out that bakfiesten!)