My Chariots Of Fire.

The correct number of bikes to own is N+1, where N is the number of bikes you already own, and 1 is actually 3. I've owned many bikes in my time in cycling. If I had the option, I would have kept each and every one of them. Unfortunately, money and physical space are limitations that plague even the most persistent lunatic cyclist. Each bike, as you probably know, has a story. It's own journey that has, for whatever length of time, intertwined itself with yours. 

I have a tendency to anthropomorphize inanimate objects.

I have an especially hard time with bicycles. 

So, with that in mind, I would like to take some time to tell you the tale of some my bikes. Each one has a storied history, which I think will add much needed depth and background to anything you are going to read on this site.  So, without further adieu, I present you with part one in a potentially endless series:

The Orbea.  

The Battle-Axe

Three weeks after moving to Cambridge for school, my first race bike, a bright yellow Univega, was stolen from Porter Square. The cut U-lock, still hanging impotently on the parking meter, seemed to snicker at me: "Welcome to Boston. Good Luck." It was as if they had stolen my teddy bear. It was my ticket to exploring the my new city, unencumbered by its hilarious excuse for public transportation. And it was gone. Forever.

Two weeks of suffering the Red Line later, I had replaced it with this. A used, aluminium Orbea Starship. It was a vast improvement over my Univega to be honest, and I was smitten, but it would have the impossible job of filling a void left by my first real bicycle. It was a monumental task. In the six years I've owned it, however, it has evolved into something undeniably important.

I've raced it.  I've crashed it (Twice).  I've rebuilt it (three times). 

It has been adorned with full grouppos from all 3 of the major component manufacturers, and in its current configuration, it weighs north of 25lbs. It has served, tirelessly, as my winter war hammer. Swinging the heavy bat this entire offseason makes me feel like I am stepping on bombs when I climb aboard my little plastic race bike.

If you asked me which is my favorite bike, I'd have to think about it, but I'd probably tell you it was this one. Which makes its impending journey a bit more special.

In two weeks, it will become my little brother's first road bike. His first real bike now that I think about it. The idea that I am in a position to (finally) share a little slice of cycling with him, and with this specific bike, is incredibly special to me.

Look at the size of that cassette!!!

He's not quite as sentimental as I am. I'm sure he wont name it... or wash it for that matter. But, if it's able stir his soul even a tenth as it does mine, he'll be able to appreciate what a special little machine this is, and what a gift this gift is to me.

I've bought it, and him, and entire new drivetrain, and will garnish it with ultralight wheels and every spare bit of carbon I can bare to part with. I will get it back down to fighting weight, return it to it's former glory, and give this, Il dono della corsa, to someone who means the world to me.

I'll be desperately sad to see it go, but I'm thrilled to know where it's going.