P
phatlizard
Guest
One-speed to die!
Way back when, not long after the invention of dirt, the bikes we rode had
but one gear. And that was just fine. We welcomed what set our off-roading
apart from our on-roading. It was a whole new world. It was primitive versus
refined, football vs. ballet, dirty vs. clean. Neither was better than the
other, they were just different.
On our one-speed fatties we made do with what we had. There was no
complaining, just muscle. That, and a whole lot of fun with friends out in
the woods. In fact, this endeavor was way more about friends and fun than
anything to do with tech. Really.
Wed take in the flora and fauna by day, and at night, take in rides by
moonlight, sometimes staying on for moonset-sunrise rides. Wed have star
parties and just plain parties.
It was 1973 and riding buds Marc Vendetti, Otis Guy, and I would hang
outside the Deuce in Mill Valley, often daily, and hitch rides to the top of
Mt. Tam. Once up where dirt met sky, wed thank the driver and head to the
edge to take in the green hills rolling to the Pacific, before gliding down
through mountain woods on the standard Rock Spring, Stage Coach, Matt Davis,
Hoo-koo-e-koo, Tucker run to home.
Eventually we tired of thumbing our way up and opted to ride it all. Somehow
our stock 26 x 10 (inch-pitch) combo did the job. We made do. On at least
one occasion, a passing Panoramic motorist yelled out his window, "I cant
believe you guys are pedaling those old bikes up this mountain!" It made my
day. We were quite crazy, and proud of it.
We felt a certain affinity for our old Schwinns. Under umpteen layers of
chipped house paint a lot of soul was packed into those stout one-inch steel
tubes. From the cracked rubber grips to oily Morrow hub, the bikes soul was
as much tactile as it was aroma.
The old bikes had such a hold on my heart that I rode one right up to the
day I completed my first multi-speed Breezer in the fall of 1977. Hey, from
state-of-decay to state-of-the-art in just one day!
Mountain bikes have certainly improved over the years, but nothing will ever
top those amber-hued days on single-speeds.
A few of us held on to single-speeding. In 1979, Chris McManus rode my 37
Schwinn XX over Pearl Pass, from Crested Butte to Aspen. In fact, there was
a whole contingent of one-speeders on Pearl howling the rallying cry of,
"One-speed to die!" --essentially, one speed to the end.
Theres somethin about those single-speeds...
Joe Breeze, Easter
2004
Way back when, not long after the invention of dirt, the bikes we rode had
but one gear. And that was just fine. We welcomed what set our off-roading
apart from our on-roading. It was a whole new world. It was primitive versus
refined, football vs. ballet, dirty vs. clean. Neither was better than the
other, they were just different.
On our one-speed fatties we made do with what we had. There was no
complaining, just muscle. That, and a whole lot of fun with friends out in
the woods. In fact, this endeavor was way more about friends and fun than
anything to do with tech. Really.
Wed take in the flora and fauna by day, and at night, take in rides by
moonlight, sometimes staying on for moonset-sunrise rides. Wed have star
parties and just plain parties.
It was 1973 and riding buds Marc Vendetti, Otis Guy, and I would hang
outside the Deuce in Mill Valley, often daily, and hitch rides to the top of
Mt. Tam. Once up where dirt met sky, wed thank the driver and head to the
edge to take in the green hills rolling to the Pacific, before gliding down
through mountain woods on the standard Rock Spring, Stage Coach, Matt Davis,
Hoo-koo-e-koo, Tucker run to home.
Eventually we tired of thumbing our way up and opted to ride it all. Somehow
our stock 26 x 10 (inch-pitch) combo did the job. We made do. On at least
one occasion, a passing Panoramic motorist yelled out his window, "I cant
believe you guys are pedaling those old bikes up this mountain!" It made my
day. We were quite crazy, and proud of it.
We felt a certain affinity for our old Schwinns. Under umpteen layers of
chipped house paint a lot of soul was packed into those stout one-inch steel
tubes. From the cracked rubber grips to oily Morrow hub, the bikes soul was
as much tactile as it was aroma.
The old bikes had such a hold on my heart that I rode one right up to the
day I completed my first multi-speed Breezer in the fall of 1977. Hey, from
state-of-decay to state-of-the-art in just one day!
Mountain bikes have certainly improved over the years, but nothing will ever
top those amber-hued days on single-speeds.
A few of us held on to single-speeding. In 1979, Chris McManus rode my 37
Schwinn XX over Pearl Pass, from Crested Butte to Aspen. In fact, there was
a whole contingent of one-speeders on Pearl howling the rallying cry of,
"One-speed to die!" --essentially, one speed to the end.
Theres somethin about those single-speeds...
Joe Breeze, Easter
2004
