Ebullition (noun): a sudden violent outburst or display; the act, process, or state of boiling or bubbling up
Has anyone ever mic’ed a slide whistle into a Marshall amp? That is the sound of this series. Opinionated bike crap. You know you love it. Your depravity is boundless on these matters. Ahead lies a journey into a dark forest filled with what’s, how’s and whys regarding bikes (mostly mountain, but we’ll see), suspension, innovations, things that worked and things that did not as well as how to have a blast for less. So, let’s start off with some background. Pour yourself a nice coffee, light your pipe while ensconced in your favorite Kashmir sweater and sit down for some vaguely informed cycling blather from someone who is not an industry insider.
“Who are You? Theme music for this episode.
Let’s start at the beginning. I was born the only Jew baby in a Catholic hospital…no, wait that’s too far back. No, let’s go to when I had elbowed may way into the cool crowd in elementary school. This meant I had to have surf shop t-shirts, be a surfer (even though the waves in VB were mostly crap) and ride a tricked-out beach cruiser/paperboy bike. These were not the Schwinn Excelsiors of early mountain biking lore, but instead were their budgetary descendants in the form of coaster brake-equipped Schwinn Spitfires and Worksmans. These were the de rigueur steeds of a group of miscreants (all kids from well-to-do families) I fell in with whose primary efforts were focused on causing trouble and evading capture. These bikes were generally stripped down, fitted with BMX stems, motorcycle handlebars, bear trap pedals, Tange forks, Troxel saddles and Uniroyal 2.125” knobby tires. These tanks were simple, durable and fun. The fact that these details are so clear to me over forty-five years later speaks to how influential this stuff would be.
We rode these beasts everywhere over anything. Terrain that was most appealing was found often where we were not supposed to be riding; cut throughs in the beach neighborhoods, hiking trails in the state park behind my house and golf courses. Those are listed in order from lowest to highest potential for consequences. This satisfied our delinquent trouble-making desires and the rush of probably any of our earliest rad-getting.
Fast-forward ten years and living up in DC for college, one of my roommates got a summer job as a messenger. I was obsessed with skateboarding but found the messenger scene intriguing. This was a group of punks/Rastas and the like who seemed hellbent on troublemaking. I fit right in, but what really drew me into it were the bikes. I asked said roommate what kind of bike should I get? His nonplussed New England response was, “I dunno. Some dudes ride 10-speeds (road-bikes), but I got a mountain bike because it seemed tougher.” I bummed money from relatives and spent food allowance to buy the same bike he had, a Rock Hopper. Following his lead, I took off the Farmer John tires to replace them with slicks, and it was on. I still skated all the time, but this was when I began to transition into cycling. My aggressive riding of yore came roaring back immediately when I put those knobby tires back on and poached nearby city park trails.
It was on these trails that my riding style became ingrained. I never looked at any cycling media; the two magazines I followed were Thrasher and Interview. The former still had interesting music recommendations, but the board flipping acrobatics that had come into vogue just wasn’t my thing. Interview always had unique interviews (duh) and was a great source for images to make flyers from. I had no clue about cycling culture, but I knew I liked riding downhill through sketchy terrain that would furiously rattle both me and bike. I had no idea about the concept of riding precisely or being nimble. My efforts were to slam myself and bike through whatever I encountered. I viewed my bikes as battle axes. They would evolve into devices to suit this aggressive and less than delicate approach.
My technique was completely at odds with mountain bike design at the time. Racing was the dominate influence and the lightest weight bikes and components were the most highly coveted. This was a recipe for disaster with my angry drunken bear-like bike handling. I recall reading somewhere that mountain bikes were designed around 150-pound riders back then. As a bellicose Clydesdale since high school, I was well appointed to destroy everything. Frames and components all fell apart. This is not braggadocio, just fact.
The freeride phenomena of the late ’90s early ’00s was huge plus for riders like me. We finally had parts that would hold up to our nonsense. Weight was less if any of a consideration. I still broke plenty of parts, but much less so. My bikes became heavier and heavier culminating with a 40+ pound Bullit I took to ride in BC, Canada. That bike was perfectly suited for the crazy pants fall line descents, stunts, jumps and drops that were all the rage in the PNW at the time. However, I came to realize not long after returning that I did not live in BC. Maybe something that was just slightly less of sledgehammer would be a more appropriate choice for my locale. I still rode all the nasty I could find but began to ride bikes that could do more than just be thrown off a cliff.
Freeride and all mountain bikes begat the rise of enduro bikes in the 10s. Now we’re cooking. Bikes that could be ridden to the top without coughing up a lung and still descend with near DH/freeride bike aplomb. I rode every kind of bike of this style I could get my paws on, and I rode them everywhere. This included all the nastiest stuff I could find (duh), but also XC rides, commutes to work, all day epics in the Blue Ridge mountains, Moab, Colorado bike parks and more. I was perfectly happy with these falchions as my weapon of choice. Yet change was on the horizon.
Next episode: You call yourself a surgeon?
