The Bike That Got Away
Every cyclist has that bike—the one you wish you hadn’t sold, gave to a friend, or otherwise let go of. It’s not just about the bike itself but the time and place in your life it represents. Maybe it was your first touring rig, your first custom build, or the bike you commuted on during a formative stage of your life. Whatever the case, these bikes have a way of lodging themselves in our memories, long after they’re gone.
For me, it’s my old Schwinn Super Le Tour. It was the first bike I did any significant touring on - especially the Assateague Trip where Adrian and I got custom boardwalk t-shirts to commemorate the journey.
I’ll admit I went all-in on nerding out over the parts - building custom wheels with a dynamo hub, swapping in Suntour Cyclone group with a half-step 52/46 double, various racks, elkhide wraps, and fenders. It had a cockpit I dialed in after countless adjustments, a pannier setup that made me feel ready to tackle any road, and a beautiful appearance. That bike taught me about gear ratios, pannier balance, and the joy of a long tour filled with self-sufficiency.
At the time, I had to let it go. Life circumstances nudged me toward selling it, and I told myself I could always replace it someday. But bikes aren’t just metal and rubber—they carry stories. The Super Le Tour wasn’t just a bike; it was that bike. It represented a time in my life when I was discovering what I loved about cycling: the sense of freedom, the connection to the road and landscape, and the satisfaction of solving mechanical puzzles on the fly. Letting it go felt practical then, but in hindsight, it’s the bike I wish I had kept.
Why do we let go of these bikes? Maybe we needed the money or were making room for a new build. Perhaps it was the lure of something lighter, faster, or shinier. Or maybe we didn’t realize how attached we were until it was gone. Sometimes it’s practical; other times, it’s a simple matter of not knowing how much we’d miss them. Whatever the reason, it’s often only in hindsight that the regret sets in.
I sometimes wonder where the Super Le Tour is now. Is it still rolling under someone else’s care? Is it leaning against a shed wall, waiting to be rediscovered? The thought of it being neglected stings a bit, but I like to imagine it’s out there, doing what it does best: carrying someone else through their own adventures.
If you’re reading this and thinking about your bike that got away, take heart. Maybe it’s a chance to rekindle the memories or find another bike to create new ones. Because every bike has the potential to become the next Super Le Tour—a new story waiting to unfold. Sometimes, we even get lucky and find our old bikes again, or we come across a similar model and make it our own. Either way, the story continues.
What was your bike that got away? Was it a childhood BMX that saw countless jumps off makeshift ramps? A randonneuring bike that carried you through brevet after brevet? Or maybe it was a quirky garage sale find that turned into an unexpected favorite. Share your stories in the comments. Who knows? Your tale might inspire someone to hold onto their own bike a little tighter.
In my early 30’s, my marriage not doing so well, I bought myself a bike as a way to get some exercise, blow off some steam, and get some time away from the house and the spouse. It was a Miyata Alumicross, my very first quality bicycle. After a bit less than a year, it failed, cracking right at the seatpost cluster. They replaced the frame, and almost a year later to the very day, it failed again. Same place, same failure. Some kind of recurring defect here.
I contacted Miyata’s designated warrantee manager, as the company had already shut down most of their US operations. We talked a bit and he replaced it, with a Triple Cross. As this was a lesser value than the bike I initially purchased, he included a better and new geartrain, brakes, handlebars, and wheelsets. Pretty much a new bike except for the tubes, tires, seat and pedals. I considered this to be more than fair, and was always grateful to him for doing this.
Billed as STB or spline triple butted, it was, as you may have guessed, a triple butted frame made in Japan with high-quality steel, that featured a unique rolled spline rifled thru the primary tubes for additional strength and torsional rigidity. Stronger, flexible, with a more relaxed geometry, and longer chainstays giving a better ride, than the Alumicross. Perfect for casual road riding, crushed stone, rail-trails, commuting and light touring. Which is just what I used it for. A lot… In that time, I broke the wheelsets once, and had to replace the shifters twice, upgrading each time, while riding the hell out of that bike for 24 years.
When it finally broke and yes it did, a cracked chainstay caused by me doing something stupid, I replaced it in 2007 with a Surly LHT. I love my Surly even more than the old Miyata STB Triple Cross, but damn, did I ride the wheels off that thing. I miss it to this very day.
Long live the Miyata STB Triple Cross!
Just as a reference I am 67 years old and grew up during the late 60s early 70s bike boom in the US creating an amazing black market for high end stolen bikes. Especially, since the highly respected frame builders could not keep up with the demand.
My first decent bike was a Raleigh Super Course circa 1970 which was stolen six months later with two locks on bike rack. My second bike was a Raleigh Competition once again stolen in front box my house being the bike boom thieves would follow you home. I went on to own a couple of Paramounts and a Raleigh International. Some years later as a graduate student working as a bike mechanic at UGA in the mid 70s our shop represented and sold Richard Sachs custom frames in his early days just as he went on his own. Back then I saved my money working three jobs selling a couple of frames/ parts I finally ordered a Sachs custom frame. Over the years I built it up with 3-4 different iterations/ components actually owning it for 35 years. Sadly, after a beautiful fall ride while enjoying a post ride breakfast my beloved Sachs was stolen from my locked Thule suv bike rack….Still hurts
leter on
2005 Lemond Fillmore. My first fix gear and the bike I judge all bikes against. Aesthetically I still today think it was just the coolest. Black with raw steel panel. Dedicated a summer to doing long hilly rides with that bike. Made huge improvement in my pedaling.
My 1973 PX-10. Graduated from college, and with trains, (from Oklahoma City) to Washington D.C, then to NYC, Vermont, and Nova Scotia, and then saw the world Championships in Montreal. Commuting home from the railroad yard, 6 years later, left it for a minute and it was stolen along with my trusted 21 jewel railroad pocket watch. A lot of memories.
When I was a sophomore in college down in Richmond VA almost 20 years ago I bought a brand new Surly Steamroller to get from my house to campus and around town. At that point in my life it was the most amount of money I had spent on a single item. It had a flip flop hub on it, fixed and freewheel, and it ended up being the catalyst for my love of riding a bike. Being relatively mechanically simple it started my love of working with bikes. It went through many different iterations, moved with me everywhere I went, and it stayed as many bikes came and left over the years. It would always come out for an evening cruise to a friends, a bar, a show, anywhere when I wanted to take it easy and feel comfortable in many different ways.
May 2020, height of covid, I went on a short jaunt from my apartment to my garage in Brooklyn to grab my motorcycle and head to work in Manhattan. A lot swirling around in my mind at that point in time, and when I got back to my garage in Brooklyn in the evening and opened it up, no Steamroller. I realized I had set it up against the outside of my garage on the street forgetting to put it in after taking my motorcycle out. It was gone, I was crushed. I felt ill for a full 24 hours. How could I have done that to something so important. For the next few months I would feel a sting here and there at thought of the bike and go on a stroll, a ride around the neighborhood hopelessly searching for it. Maybe locked up to a lamppost or a gate. A bike that had grown up with me and been through it all with me. Friends would say, “havent seen the steamroller in a while”. Id have to break the news and their faces would drop. They knew I was supposed to have that bike for the long haul and it didnt seem right it was gone.
Fast forward 7 months Dec 2020. My last day of work before a couple week break for the holidays. A nor’easter is due to move in by the evening so I decide to ride into the city from Brooklyn before I hunker down for a couple days. I reach the top of the Manhattan bridge and start to coast down taking it easy and enjoying nobody out due to the forecasted weather and a global pandemic. I see a man struggling, coming up the opposite direction on a bike with purple grips. Sighhhh my Steamroller had purple grips in the last iteration of its existence. The sting again, it came in ways like that. I slowed down a bit as I was coasting down and he was huffing up to see what he was working with. MY BIKE. THERE IT WAS MY BIKE. A man with a wizard staff tied to the frame with a blanket riding my bike up the Manhattan bridge but no doubt MY BIKE. I got it from him. Thats a whole different story but sheesh. I dont think I have ever felt that exact feeling that I did for the next 20 minutes.
Riding my bike with the Steamroller in my hand rolling beside. Rescued from abuse and neglect for sure. Construction workers yelling an obvious “hey you’ve got 2 bikes”, cyclists in spandex yelling “get out of the way” or “on your left” annoyed at how much fun I was having with 2 bikes. To everyone of them I cheered and screamed and laughed. A crazed joy to all those I encountered. People who saw me that day must have thought I was a mad man and I was. Mad with delight.
But all this to say you never know, the one that got away could make it back to you someday. I hope it does.
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