This past Winter, I picked up a vintage Trek frame from a local framebuilder who was moving out of state. He gave it to me free, saying that it had been in his basement for years and was given to him by a friend who had attempted a single speed conversion but never got any farther than grinding all the brazings off.
Looking up the serial number, I learned it was a 1985 Trek 500, made in Wisconsin with Reynolds 501 steel. My plan was to fix it up and sell it.
As soon as the weather got warm enough, I painted it along with another project I was working on, an early 80's Bridgestone Kabuki. I gave it two coats of primer, four coats of brush on Rustoleum, and and a few coats of clearcoat. I gave it a new fork, some chopped down old Bontrager mountain bike flat bars, mismatched Tektro and Shimano 105 brakes, mismatched cranks, and a fixed gear drivetrain. You couldn't really tell it was a Trek unless you looked at the custom investment cast lugs. It looked pretty generic, but the first time I rode it it felt special. It was springy, lithe, and fast. It was more fun to ride than any other bike I'd ever ridden. And I had built it. I was keeping it.
Looking up the serial number, I learned it was a 1985 Trek 500, made in Wisconsin with Reynolds 501 steel. My plan was to fix it up and sell it.
As soon as the weather got warm enough, I painted it along with another project I was working on, an early 80's Bridgestone Kabuki. I gave it two coats of primer, four coats of brush on Rustoleum, and and a few coats of clearcoat. I gave it a new fork, some chopped down old Bontrager mountain bike flat bars, mismatched Tektro and Shimano 105 brakes, mismatched cranks, and a fixed gear drivetrain. You couldn't really tell it was a Trek unless you looked at the custom investment cast lugs. It looked pretty generic, but the first time I rode it it felt special. It was springy, lithe, and fast. It was more fun to ride than any other bike I'd ever ridden. And I had built it. I was keeping it.
I rode it all over town for seven months. We grabbed a lot of bike tags together, from Eden Prairie to North Saint Paul. Like, a lot of tags ;) . We raced in the Powderhorn 24. One time, I hit a curb near the U of M and went over the handlebars, but that was ok. I just kept biking through summer and into fall. Although I had planned to ride my backup fixie through the winter, I kept riding the Trek, giving it an occasional shower to wash the gunk off.
But last week, I started feeling a weird wiggle. I thought the rear hub might be too loose, so I took off the rear wheel and tightened it. But on my next ride to work, it still felt weird. It was the Saturday before Christmas, our busiest work day of the year, so I decided to look into it after Christmas and rebuild the hub if necessary.
Leaving work that day, I rolled down off the curb and was preparing to accelerate into Grand Avenue ahead of an oncoming car half a block away. I hauled up on the handlebars to get some power and the bike literally ripped in half. The down tube sheared a few inches below the head tube and the top tube bent back into the shape of a croissant.
But last week, I started feeling a weird wiggle. I thought the rear hub might be too loose, so I took off the rear wheel and tightened it. But on my next ride to work, it still felt weird. It was the Saturday before Christmas, our busiest work day of the year, so I decided to look into it after Christmas and rebuild the hub if necessary.
Leaving work that day, I rolled down off the curb and was preparing to accelerate into Grand Avenue ahead of an oncoming car half a block away. I hauled up on the handlebars to get some power and the bike literally ripped in half. The down tube sheared a few inches below the head tube and the top tube bent back into the shape of a croissant.
It is a weird thing about biking that we tend to become emotionally attached to our bikes. They 're just machines, after all, but they're also extensions of ourselves and and expression of who we are. And they've shared unnumbered adventures with us. My Trek 500 wasn't my only bike, but it was my favorite. And it's sudden loss was devastating in a way that could only be helped by finding a new frame as soon as possible (sorry, family, for my 36 hour obsession earlier this week...)
I can see why the frame failed the way it did. There was a dent in the tube there where I think the previous owner had ground off too much metal removing the downtube shifter bosses. Looking back, you can see the flaw was there all along.
I can see why the frame failed the way it did. There was a dent in the tube there where I think the previous owner had ground off too much metal removing the downtube shifter bosses. Looking back, you can see the flaw was there all along.
I've been told that it's possible to repair a frame like this, but after talking to Erik at Peacock Groove, who was kind enough to fix a different frame for me last spring, it was clear that finding another comparable frame would be a lot cheaper than fixing this one. And so, a new frame is on it's way. (Hopefully that'll be another post.) Perhaps I'll hang the broken frame on the wall, but I'll probably recycle it. Whether it's vintage or new, the purpose of a bicycle is to ride it. They may not last forever, but it certainly is worthwhile to ride every last mile out of them. And that's what we did.
RSS Feed
