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.
The bike I’d like having again was the last bike I competed with. It was a white and yellow Ric Super (aka Rickert), hand made in Dortmund, Germany. The frame-set was a parents’ gift from Ted Ernst’s shop in Manhattan Beach, CA. We swapped components over from my prior ride to complete the build. I recall the bike’s noticeable improvement in fit and handling. It was certainly my best ride up to the time, at age 17. I trained and raced another two years with the South Bay Wheelmen before becoming more interested in cars. No idea who got the Rickert next.
As Joni Mitchell’s song lyrics go, “You don’t know what you’ve got ’til its gone.”
I’ve never willingly let go of a bicycle. They have all left me via theft. Tweakers, man! I would venture to say that we never own a bicycle, we are just its steward for a period of time until it goes off to that great highway underpass in the sky.
When I was 15 I bought a Raleigh Super Course MkII. It got me through a few early life tours. I ended up selling it to “upgrade.” Years later I wish I had it back, I sometimes refer to it as Rosebud. Can’t post a picture here, so here’s a link to a pic (hope that’s ok!): https://www.flickr.com/photos/gugie/12281693206/in/album-72157641753836575
When I was 15 I bought a Raleigh Super Course MkII. It got me through a few early life tours. I ended up selling it to “upgrade.” Years later I wish I had it back, I sometimes refer to it as Rosebud. Can’t post a picture here, so here’s a link to a pic (hope that’s ok!): https://www.flickr.com/photos/gugie/12281693206/in/album-72157641753836575
1972 Schwinn Sports Tourer. Everything was obsolete — headset, steerer, derailleur hanger, even the cable stops — which made assembling it a pain, and in some cases meant I was stuck with old parts, like a stem that wouldn’t stop creaking softly. But man, what a lovely bike that was to ride. Stable, comfortable, and yet sufficiently nimble. I took it to Italy and yet didn’t keep it around once I had to do some thinning of the herd. Similar regrets about a mongrel 1976 motobecane grand touring that I rode in the one PMC I’ve done. But that one was retired due to a crack in the frame. Good times and fond memories of both.
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