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.
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.
The one that got away was my custom-built Bob Jackson Super Tourist. I spend several years working in a bike shop scrimping and saving to buy up the parts and build a touring bike for a cross-country USA tour. About 6 weeks before I was supposed to leave on tour, the bike was stolen. The bad part was it was fully loaded so they got my bags and gear too. I had spent every spare penny I had on getting the bike dialed in. I bought a $35 Motobecane Nomade basket case to use for the tour, it was all I could afford. Interestingly enough I still have that bike.
I have 2. A Trek Sawyer which I had before fully rigid bikes were cool and the bike packing thing took off. The other would be my Soma Saga. That bike could go just about anywhere and I should have held onto it.
I have two. 1989 Specialized Hardrock. I never should have gotten rid of that. It was the first bike I ever bought. As a kid, that was huge for me. The U-brake under the chainstays will always live in my brain. The other was a 1995(?) Voodoo Bizango. It was made of Tange Ultimate Superlight, was perfectly orange, and rode like butter. It fit me perfectly and the geo made it a singletrack destroyer.
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