“I bought this bike for $400 off a youth pastor who didn’t like its fit. I hopped on and immediately fell in love – I’d never owned a road bike or clipped in at that time. Since then, I’ve put over 10,000kms on it. Man, all the exploring we’ve done together – it has changed my life. I call it Miles – because it’s smooth as jazz and because … well, you figure it out.”
Katy, Norco Search
“This is the bike I’ve always wanted; it’s light and it’s fast and it’s beautiful. It makes it so that I can do things that on other bikes were just you hard because they were too heavy, or didn’t fit right. This is the bike I always wanted as a kid; and it came to me ar exactly the right time because it still makes me feel young and strong and daring.”
Andrew, Marin Palisades
Originally a hybrid mountain bike, this rig has been stripped, converted into a single speed, crashed hard, and rebuilt. Now a gravel bike with those killer, tan-walled Nanos it is certifiable one of a kind super rad. Full of stroke from its mismatched pedals to hand painted details, from the 44:18 quad crushing gear ratio to the super fly purple seat stem quick release, this beast is aptly named Miss Marin Mountain Destoyer or “m3” for shorts. Word is, it’s going to ride PEI in one day…
Mary, Norco VFR
This Nora; loved for her efficiency, her “get me there”, her speed, her elegant sleekness. As Mary says: “she never breaks down, she goes fast, she takes me where I need to go.” Asked if she’ll give it up when she has her full driver’s license, a firm “no. Bikes are better than cars.” Score one for the cool kids.
Pieces Fall In Place
In 1991, when I was 21, after thrashing around in the woods of Marysville and Fredericton Junction for years riding whatever bike was going, I rode my first ‘mountain bike’. A friend worked at the local bike shop and on the weekends we’d go in and take rigs out for unsanctioned rips in Odell — Gary Fishers and Diamond Backs mostly, souped up clunkers, rigid frames with 26″ knobbly tires. It was great fun — we wiped out a lot and learned a huge amount about balance and control, speed versus inertia, torque, balance, thresholds of risk.
For years I rode hard and uncontrolled, trying as much as I could get better, be more supple, lean into the bike, let it be; but as those years and bikes went by, I never really got much better. I couldn’t get the “feel” for it — I was always so stiff and constantly in a battle with the bike. I bought carbon frames, fat bikes, dual suspension; I clipped in and rode flats; I raced and rode casual, bombed down hills, hit the gnar; I tried riding with groups and listening to folks who seemed to know what they were talking about. But still I sucked. After about 25 years worth of REALLY trying, I just gave up. No more. Sold the bikes.
But, somewhere inside I knew that it was more than just me — like on road bikes and gravel rigs, the RIGHT beast makes all the difference. I hadn’t really given up; I was just trying to convince myself that it was ok because, just maybe, I was never going to find the right one. Literally from the moment I saw this bike, I could already kind of sense that maybe, juuuuuuust maybe this was The One. The evening it was dropped off to me, I was in my converse, helmet strapped on and down the road towards the woodlot before the dude had barely left my neighbourhood. I stopped on the corner to adjust the seat height — and even now, I’m convinced that that is the only adjustment I’ll ever need to make.
I rounded into the woods and felt the familiar rough of the roots and rocks, but there was no resistance; I pushed a little harder and the bike picked up the slack. Rolling into the trails, I was off like a shot; soon I was hitting trails harder than ever; pushing fast and seated up steep hills, taking quick corners with little effort, letting the rocks bounce under me instead of being deeply rattled by them. The sweat started to drip off the brim of my cap, some rain fell, I narrowly escaped the fucking goshawk that nests on one of the trails every year. Full tilt adventure.
It’s more than the geometry of the bike — it’s the quiet of the singlespeed; like the clattering of the derailleur on every other mountain bike I’ve ever ridden had addled my nerves, making me anxious and bothered. Like the chain smacking around down there was actually the bike smack talking my shitty form. But this night I could hear the birds, could feel the rocks and roots without being distracted by changing gears; this night I finally came to know what it feels like to Ride The One Mountain Bike. I won’t bullshit you — I got it dirty. Really dirty. And then I only kind of cleaned it and that because first thing the next morning I’m went back to do it again.
Truth is, I think I’ve finally hit the pay dirt; this rig, in all her quiet and strength, in the stout tires and wide bars, the superior components and cool geometry, is exactly the right MTB for me. But I kind of knew it was already. Sometimes you just see a photo and know; and then all these weird pieces fall into place and that seals the deal. Might seem silly to you, I don’t know, but the world needs poets too. And all cyclists are cool people.
The Bicycle Race
wind & turbulence are not your friends, in the end
they want to undo you, subdue you, make the ride
a push of stream against bottom, hold the bottom
down, the sound of push & pull, chains
that guard your humanity, you are more to me than any simple machine.
I lean into the door, unlock & roar, lift & spin wheels, feel
all the blood gather in phonetics around my heart
as they speak to the addict I am,
as they speak to the addict I am.
Time
works, clocks
strike, spokes speak the language of hitting it hard, large
adventures where heroes break indentured servitude, & grease is crude
oil that boils to burn all that we’ve learned from these fools.
Once upon an unspecified rythmic time I rhymed
myself against a tree & see the scar it left for me? We
are one, solid roots that shoot to earth & hold the gold
of their nutrition. Fruition comes from grinding into dirt
all the hurt you’ve felt, & the bicycle replaces belief, the bicycle
is your underneath, the bicycle
takes you to the otherside, slides
over the dirt path, hard grass, crashes & still
fits between your legs.
In essence it is adolescent innocence that we sense as the whirr & click, stick
shift over the deraileur & we gun down the hills made of years
when we yearn for our story to be old, told
to children on laps before they strap on the helmet & wobble
into their freedom. I see them
cruise down the streets in packs, attack the pavement & curbs
urge their machines to be closer to their flight
than all the might just a mind can muster, ‘trust her’
they are whispering, ‘trust her’ we are gathering, rush
into the oncoming traffic & swerve
with the pack & breathe the music of the muse who loses it
when the horns blast & it’s a duck & dodge game of
truck & car frames &
the bicycle replaces belief, the bicycle
is your underneath, sneaks across paths & cuts
the ruts of old train tracks, cuts back
a bird, a line of words, more verb than any thumping noun
could replace – space
& time are figments, figures of the ways we encourage
another day’s ride is still coming,
another day’s ride is still coming.
Lunging
down & through the town the gear cables tell tales
as the veins they are course blood
back to the heart, art, starting apart the air & your lungs
make love & sigh relief, the sighing relief
of shifters shifting lovers under the covers of heat & complete
exertion.
The bicycle fought for its independence, wholly warred
against the tight fisted, rolled out the factories as those with greed
also tried to stultify its nobility. One wheel big, frame too tight, light
on rim, trim down the fat, eject this & keep that, over time it
rhymed itself to perfection as the priests of pedal & frame fought
the fame devils of engine who were gaining speed.
Cities carved streets from paths & pushed you to the edge of extinction
but in an blink them bold pioneers of gears & steel wielded the power
of subtle beauty & the bicycle
replaced belief, & the bicycle
became our underneath, the bicycle
took its seat in the halls of simple power & we ride
to the unknown
with muscles blown to balloons by wind & turbulence
that in its aggression becomes the impression
of our desire to fly, our desire to
ride, our desire to collide
with reality of spirit made flesh.