Do you name your bikes?

Posted: December 12th, 2009 | Author: | Filed under: Personal | No Comments »

In the mid-90s, there was a listserv called I-BOB, short for Internet Bridgestone Owners Bunch, which was for bicyclists into traditional steel-frame bikes with retro appeal. People waxed poetic on topics such as their Brooks saddles and how toe clips were superior to clipless peddles.

This was something I wrote to that listserv in May 1996.

Subject:
Re: Do you name your bikes? (Long)
My wife likes to name all different kinds of things, from her commuter
bicycle (Ms. Gulch) to a comforter the cats particularly love (Lillian).  I
have never made a practice of naming inanimate objects, with the exception
of “Big Chubby.”
I have three working bikes, a 1989 MB-3 (which I rode over the Himalayas in
1992), a 1991 RB-1, and a Brodie mountain bike.  None of these bikes has a
name, only an identification (
e.g. commuter, road or mountain bike).  I
also possess a late 1980’s red Specialized Allez frameset which carries the
name Big Chubby.
The story of how Big Chubby got his name is inextricably linked to memories
of my best friend, Kevin, who died in 1989.
Like many people of my generation, my first bike was a red 1969 banana-seat
Schwinn 3-speed(?) with the groovy “stick shift” shifter mounted on the
curved top-tube and coaster brakes.  Later, I graduated to home made
bmx-style bikes put together from old Schwinn frames equipped with knobby
tires, bmx bars and a combination of rear coaster brakes and front
side-pulls.  In junior high, I got my first 10-speed, a Centurion Le Mans
(?), on which I commuted 12 miles round-trip to school from 7-10th grades
(when I got my drivers license).  I have no idea what happened to the
Centurion after that.
None of these bikes held any special allure, they were just means to an
end.  To the extent that I was into the beauty of human powered vehicles, I
was obsessed with skateboards (I can still remember my first Bahne
fiberglass board with cadillac wheels, independent trucks, and a really
tacky airbrushed desing on the deck).
It was in junior high that I met Kevin.  We became close friends over our
last two years of high school, and, as good friends do, we learned much
about ourselves and each other.  Between 1980 and 1989, there were only a
few periods greater than a month where Kevin and I did not speak to or see
each other every day.
Bicycling was a passion with Kevin, but he never pressured me to become
involved in it, although sometimes he couldn’t resist talking about it.  I
remember him waxing poetic in 1980 over a mid-seventies Raleigh frame he
was riding which was made of Reynolds 531 and equipped with Campagnola
parts and a Brooks saddle.  At the time, I had no idea what he was talking
about, but I listened because that’s what friends do.  In the summer of
1981, Kevin went bicycling in Europe on that Raleigh, which was stolen off
of a train in France.
Kevin and I both started college at Berkeley in 1981.  Kevin replaced the
stolen bike with another Raleigh, but I still didn’t have a bicycle.  In
1982, Kevin dropped out of Berkeley and went to the east coast with his
bicycle.  In summer 1983, Kevin took three months to ride that bicycle
cross-country, from Maine to Los Angeles via the South.  The bike took a
severe beating and when he got to L.A., he stripped the parts off the frame
and built a new bike on another Raleigh frame.  Then he returned to
Berkeley to reenter school.
Meanwhile, at the end of fall semester 1983, I dropped out of Berkeley and
left for Colorado to be a ski bum and construction worker for the winter
and spring of 1984.  I returned to California in summer 1984 and went to
live with my girlfriend in Santa Cruz.  My girlfriend at that time was a
triathlete, so I decided to start cycling.  I called Kevin in L.A. to see
if I could get a recommendation for a bicycle from him and he told me that
I could have the old Raleigh and enough parts to build it up.  The next
week, I drove to L.A. to get the bike and parts.  After hanging out with
Kevin, I came back to Santa Cruz, bought a book on bicycle mechanics, and
built the bike up.  The frame was a little tweaked, so after a few months
of hard riding, I retired it and bought a Bianchi Sport SS.
In fall 1984, both Kevin and I were back in Berkeley.  The only riding he
was doing now, however, was as a commuter.  I had started riding for fun in
Santa Cruz and now was hooked.  I also used the bicycle as a concentration
aid during finals, when I would strip it down and rebuild it completely
every finals week.  Over the next four years, life for Kevin became
increasingly difficult emotionally and he lost interest in a lot of the
things that had always been important to him, including cycling.
In January 1989, at my urging, Kevin bought another bike (his last had been
stolen at a BART station in 1987), a used red Specialized Allez from a LBS
and started to ride again.  Some things seemed to be coming together for
Kevin during that year.  In May 1989, I graduated from law school at
Berkeley and Kevin, my girlfriend Ann, and my Dad were the only people who
came to watch.  Afterwards we went to dinner and the four of us had a great
time.
In late June, I called Kevin several times over a weekend but he didn’t
pick up or return the calls.  Then, on a Sunday I got a call, my friend
Matt had discovered Kevin dead in his apartment.  He had killed himself
with a shotgun.
Kevin did not have many possessions, but he had written a will in which he
left to me his bicycle.  At 6 foot 2 inches, Kevin was 3 inches taller than
me, so the frame was a little big, but I sold the Bianchi and rode the
Specialized instead.  I couldn’t see not using it.
Over the next few years, I gradually got more and more into mountain
biking, and road the Allez less and less.  Then, in 1992, after taking my
MB-3 to Tibet and riding over the Himalayas, I came back to the Bay Area
and decided it was time to start road riding again.  I knew that the
Specialized didn’t fit, so I bought an RB-1 frame and swapped my parts over
to it.  I didn’t know what to do with the Allez, so I left it at the bike
shop for the next year, where Grant Handley of Planetary Gear was kind
enough to store it in his basement.  Kevin and his bike were never far from
my mind, and in 1993 I had an idea for the frame.  I called Grant and got
the Allez out of the basement.  Then I started looking for the perfect way
to realize my vision.
In 1995, I found it, a baby doll named Big Chubby at a toy store in
Oakland.  Big Chubby had rubber hands (including forearms) and feet
(including calfs -calves?) and a rubber head with a cloth body.  I removed
the hands and feet and mounted them on the front and rear drop-outs.  I put
the head on the top of the fork and the frame was reborn as a cherub named
Big Chubby.  I’m still looking for the perfect pair of wings to mount in
the seat tube.
Some people who see Big Chubby find him very disturbing, especially when I
show them that turning the fork also turns Big Chubby’s head.  But to me,
he represents the rebirth of an innocence lost.  I know that it sounds
strange, but whenever I see him — which is often since he hangs from the
ceiling in my home office — I think about the good things which have
happened in my life.  Besides, Big Chubby appeals to my sense of humor.
So that’s the story of how I came to name an inanimate object, though I am
generally not of that bent (or that bent).

Subject: Re: Do you name your bikes? (Long)

My wife likes to name all different kinds of things, from her commuter bicycle (Ms. Gulch) to a comforter the cats particularly love (Lillian).  I have never made a practice of naming inanimate objects, with the exception of “Big Chubby.”

I have three working bikes, a 1989 MB-3 (which I rode over the Himalayas in 1992), a 1991 RB-1, and a Brodie mountain bike.  None of these bikes has a name, only an identification (e.g. commuter, road or mountain bike).  I also possess a late 1980’s red Specialized Allez frameset which carries the name Big Chubby.

The story of how Big Chubby got his name is inextricably linked to memories of my best friend, Kevin, who died in 1989.

Like many people of my generation, my first bike was a red 1969 banana-seat Schwinn 3-speed(?) with the groovy “stick shift” shifter mounted on the curved top-tube and coaster brakes.  Later, I graduated to home made bmx-style bikes put together from old Schwinn frames equipped with knobby tires, bmx bars and a combination of rear coaster brakes and front side-pulls.  In junior high, I got my first 10-speed, a Centurion Le Mans, on which I commuted 12 miles round-trip to school from 7-10th grades (when I got my drivers license).  I have no idea what happened to the Centurion after that.

None of these bikes held any special allure, they were just means to an end.  To the extent that I was into the beauty of human powered vehicles, I was obsessed with skateboards (I can still remember my first Bahne fiberglass board with cadillac wheels, independent trucks, and a really tacky airbrushed desing on the deck).

It was in junior high that I met Kevin.  We became close friends over our last two years of high school, and, as good friends do, we learned much about ourselves and each other. Between 1980 and 1989, there were only a few periods greater than a month where Kevin and I did not speak to or see each other every day.

Bicycling was a passion with Kevin, but he never pressured me to become involved in it, although sometimes he couldn’t resist talking about it.  I remember him waxing poetic in 1980 over a mid-seventies Raleigh frame he was riding which was made of Reynolds 531 and equipped with Campagnola parts and a Brooks saddle.  At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about, but I listened because that’s what friends do.  In the summer of 1981, Kevin went bicycling in Europe on that Raleigh, which was stolen off of a train in France.

Kevin and I both started college at Berkeley in 1981.  Kevin replaced the stolen bike with another Raleigh, but I still didn’t have a bicycle.  In 1982, Kevin dropped out of Berkeley and went to the east coast with his bicycle.  In summer 1983, Kevin took three months to ride that bicycle cross-country, from Maine to Los Angeles via the South.  The bike took a severe beating and when he got to L.A., he stripped the parts off the frame and built a new bike on another Raleigh frame.  Then he returned to Berkeley to re-enter school.

Meanwhile, at the end of fall semester 1983, I dropped out of Berkeley and left for Colorado to be a ski bum and construction worker for the winter and spring of 1984.  I returned to California in summer 1984 and went to live with my girlfriend in Santa Cruz.  My girlfriend at that time was a triathlete, so I decided to start cycling.  I called Kevin in L.A. to see if I could get a recommendation for a bicycle from him and he told me that I could have the old Raleigh and enough parts to build it up.

The next week, I drove to L.A. to get the bike and parts.  After hanging out with Kevin, I came back to Santa Cruz, bought a book on bicycle mechanics, and built the bike up.  The frame was a little tweaked, so after a few months of hard riding, I retired it and bought a Bianchi Sport SS.

In fall 1984, both Kevin and I were back in Berkeley.  The only riding he was doing now, however, was as a commuter.  I had started riding for fun in Santa Cruz and now was hooked.  I also used the bicycle as a concentration aid during finals, when I would strip it down and rebuild it completely every finals week.  Over the next four years, life for Kevin became increasingly difficult emotionally and he lost interest in a lot of the things that had always been important to him, including cycling.

In January 1989, at my urging, Kevin bought another bike (his last had been stolen at a BART station in 1987), a used red Specialized Allez from a LBS and started to ride again.  Some things seemed to be coming together for Kevin during that year.  In May 1989, I graduated from law school at Berkeley and Kevin, my girlfriend Ann, and my Dad were the only people who came to watch.  Afterwards we went to dinner and the four of us had a great time.

In late June, I called Kevin several times over a weekend but he didn’t pick up or return the calls.  Then, on a Sunday I got a call, my friend Matt had discovered Kevin dead in his apartment.  He had killed himself with a shotgun.

Kevin did not have many possessions, but he had written a will in which he left to me his bicycle.  At 6 foot 2 inches, Kevin was 3 inches taller than me, so the frame was a little big, but I sold the Bianchi and rode the Specialized instead.  I couldn’t see not using it.

Over the next few years, I gradually got more and more into mountain biking, and rode the Allez less and less.  Then, in 1992, after taking my MB-3 to Tibet and riding over the Himalayas, I came back to the Bay Area and decided it was time to start road riding again.  I knew that the Specialized didn’t fit, so I bought an RB-1 frame and swapped my parts over to it.

I didn’t know what to do with the Allez, so I left it at the bike shop for the next year, where Grant Handley of Planetary Gear was kind enough to store it in his basement.  Kevin and his bike were never far from my mind, and in 1993 I had an idea for the frame.  I called Grant and got the Allez out of the basement.  Then I started looking for the perfect way to realize my vision.

In 1995, I found it, a baby doll named Big Chubby at a toy store in Oakland.  Big Chubby had rubber hands (including forearms) and feet (including calfs -calves?) and a rubber head with a cloth body.  I removed the hands and feet and mounted them on the front and rear drop-outs.  I put the head on the top of the fork and the frame was reborn as a cherub named Big Chubby.  I’m still looking for the perfect pair of wings to mount in the seat tube.

Some people who see Big Chubby find him very disturbing, especially when I show them that turning the fork also turns Big Chubby’s head.  But to me, he represents the rebirth of an innocence lost.  I know that it sounds strange, but whenever I see him — which is often since he hangs from the ceiling in my home office — I think about the good things which have happened in my life.  Besides, Big Chubby appeals to my sense of humor.

So that’s the story of how I came to name an inanimate object, though I am generally not of that bent (or that bent).

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