Youds — You can have the shirt but don’t touch the panniers

Mike Youds writes about the great outdoors for A.M. News.

COLUMN — “Stop, thief,” I shouted, in my dreams.

As I slept, a thief was a few metres away, making off with my old mountain bike, a relic from the 1980s. In reality, there was no chance to stop him. Should have put the bike away, since the same culprit had already hit the neighbourhood, stealing kids’ bicycles.

I hadn’t realized mine was stolen until I found it a few days later, but that’s not what this column is about. This is about the payoff from investing in good, durable outdoor equipment.

A few days passed before I noticed that someone left a bicycle on the other side of the property. Thinking one of the tenants’ visitors owned it, I made a mental note to remind them that there was a cat burglar creeping around in the early hours and they should be careful. A couple of days later, mowing the lawn, I realized that this bike was mine, stripped and unrecognizable from a distance.

At this point, the thief proved the first rule of bike security and disproved the second. First rule: Always lock your frame to the rear wheel with a lock that can’t be cut. I’ve yet to lose a securely locked bike. Second rule: Ride old bikes because nobody steals them.

I was relieved to get the bike back I hadn’t realized was missing, minus the seat, seat post and — the sentimental sting — a pair of dust-encrusted Carradice panniers. Well-worn and well-travelled, super tough, they were hand-stitched in “cotton duck” (waterproof canvas) in a Lancashire workshop more than 30 years ago. On closer inspection, I realized that he also removed the seat post quick-release mechanism, a part I probably wouldn’t be able to replace a quarter century later. This could render the bike unrideable.

After kicking myself a few times, I decided that fixing the old Kona would be the sweetest form of revenge, particularly since I’m too cheap to buy a new one. I bought a new seat, post and set of saddlebags at Canadian Tire, only to find that the post didn’t fit and they stock only two of about 15 sizes.

Two trips later, it was time to pay a visit to a friendly neighbourhood cycling store. You know you’re stepping into a good cycling shop when the veloculture hits you at the door, as it did at Spoke Bike & Ski (used to be Spoken Motion).

I felt a bit silly, wheeling my vintage mountain bike past its obviously superior 21st-century successors and down the ramp to the workshop. In front of me, a guy brought in for repair Mike Wiegele’s shiny-red mountain bike — high-end components, shocks, probably worth thousands. There I was with a seatless relic, hoping for a practically impossible parts match.

The guys at the counter, to my surprise, were impressed with the Kona, much as someone might show appreciation for a vintage car. Suddenly my veloculture stature rose a notch (OK, half a notch). As the bike tech went hunting for a quick-release, I drifted back in time to when I wheeled my 1971 10-speed road bike into West Point Cycles in Point Grey.

“Time for a new bike,” the owner said.

“But it still works,” I protested.

“So does the Edsel, but you don’t see guys driving ‘em around anymore.”

Not long after I invested in my first mountain bike, a primitive Norco that looked like it was welded together under a shade tree. Freedom to ride took on new meaning, especially during Vancouver’s summer-long transit strike of ’84. The Norco and the Carradice panniers took me halfway around the world that year on an adventure travel odyssey. A few years later, I upgraded to the Kona.

Dan Gerhard and Jacob Heilbron, Kona’s founders, were just getting going in North Vancouver in ’88 when I bought the Cinder Cone through a friend, a Whistler guide. It was hand-made, hand-painted to mimic an exploding volcano, and it bore the proud inscription, “Designed by Joe Murray.” The bike was a steep $800, but “state of the art,” my buddy said. He wasn’t exaggerating.

Murray is a pioneer in the mountain bike movement. Growing up, he saw old 1940s fat-tired Schwinns in Marin County, Calif. In 1980, at 15, he finished as first novice in the Zero Notch, an early off-road race. He was riding a primitive one-speed Schwinn Cruiser, modified with drum brakes and derailleurs. Joe Breeze is credited with inventing the mountain bike, but Murray certainly advanced the innovation.

A bike tester and designer as well, Murray worked with Gerhard and Heilbron in 1988 as Kona got going in B.C., creating the first range of sloping top tube frames. The old Cinder Cone was first out of the shop and has become a collectible. Online, there’s a Vimeo promo called the Kona Cinder Cone Time Machine 2014 in which pro riders bring them “together again, for the first time …

“As our longest-running model, it’s spirit has always remained the same.”

And I thought it was just an old bike. This means there is hope for replacement parts.

After a couple of attempts, the bike tech emerged from parts with a quick-release mechanism that might work and a tube sleeve to make the undersized post fit securely — no charge (gotta love that veloculture). I’m back in gear now. The Kona still rides like a dream with a new — ahem — age-appropriate seat that’s restored the comfort on long-distance rides. Of course it’s fat — it’s a Schwinn.

If you happen to see a kid riding around with front panniers twice his age, you’ll know where they came from. He should get a few more years out of them. I still have the rears, in near-mint condition, and they should be around for another 30 years if I can hang onto them.

Mike Youds is a Kamloops journalist who writes for A.M. News.