sometimes you have to stop and smell the chamois butter

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

the bike that started it all

The 1984 Trek 660.  My first two-wheeled love.  Race red lugged 531 frame, italian parts, brooks saddle.  Man she was sweet.  I can remember the first night she spent with me.  It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.  We would go for long spins in the country.  Exploring the boundaries of wheel and man.  As we grew accustomed to each other, we would go faster and further.  Occasionally she would throw me to the ground, removing some skin, to let me know who was in charge.  Once I left her beside my buddies half-pipe and someone launched a skateboard on to her downtube.  It was painful to watch and I felt as though she had been violated.  She was damaged goods, but still rode fine.  We spent many, many more miles together before her rear dropout cracked.  It was a sad day.  I sent her back to Trek for inspection and I never got to see her again.  They weren't repairing bikes any longer and it got replaced by a god-forsaken aluminum frame.  I can't bare to think of what those bastards did to her.  I daydream about our time together sometimes when I am riding.  If we were still together she would be spending her days here in the dry air of Moab, spinning out her days with upright townie bars and charging down the bike path. 
I think I saw her younger sister on ebay a couple of days ago.  She was just a little too small.  If I ever come across one her twins that has been treated well, I may just have to bring her home.

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