by Tom Gandesbery
The other day I happened to be up at Joaquin Miller Park on one of our beautiful fall days in mid-November checking out how the pump track was looking after our first rain (answer: pretty good with just one set of tire tracks from just one clueless person).
And I looked across the road in time to see a guy whip his old Toyota truck in a dramatic U-turn to park at the Sequoia-Bayview Trailhead. Strapped to the side of his rig’s lumber rack was a 1980’s era “first generation” mountain bike. You know the kind: pre-suspension with that “unicrown” fork, cantilever brakes, Y-shaped stem, stretched out geometry, and yes even a chromed frame. A Classic. But just minutes earlier I had seen a half dozen guys unloading their very modern looking full-suspension rides: bikes that may cost as much as a decent used car. So now I wondered: who of this loose assemblage of trail cyclists would be having the most fun? Sure, having the latest tech can be a “game changer”, to use that worn out expression. But what if you don’t know what you are missing? What if every time you get out on that 1988 Rockhopper, your enjoyment level pegs at TEN, while the guy with the $5,000 Hi-Mod-Evo-Enduro-Endo-Xtreme-Comp is busy obsessing over pre-load settings and is slightly tormented by the second mortgage that got him the new ride (and new kitchen cabinets which is neither here nor there). Sometimes the thing that helps creates the experience gets in the way.
This also got me thinking about my first mountain bike, which even back then was definitely unfancy. Actually, not at all an actual mountain bike, but what might be considered a close cousin to the “proto” mountain bike: the trusty, rusty Schwinn. Back when they were made in Chicago out of surplus locomotive parts.
Mine was called the “Collegiate” and had five speeds; whereas, the original Marin County Repack machines were mostly modified single-speed, 1940’s era Schwinn “Newsboys”. You can see them in action in the highly recommended MTB origins documentary Klunkers (available on Amazon Prime Video).
I recalled, growing up in the (flat, flat, flat!) Sacramento Valley, many a day riding off-road with my friends along rock strewn railroad tracks, bombing down into drainage ditches and building jumps out of scrap lumber amongst the half-constructed subdivision homes. In the heyday of Evil Knievel we were all fixated on jumping over things, occasionally other humans. Sure, a modern mountain bike would have been far more capable than that old Schwinn, but I’m not sure I would have had more fun. And I’m not arguing against getting the latest greatest bike if that’s what you crave. After all, there are myriad other more wasteful and unhealthy ways to blow through your disposable income! (loaded Sprinter Van anyone?) But one of the beautiful things about the bicycle is the democratic way it gives access to all income levels to trails. And in beautiful public places like Joaquin Miller Park, old tech or new.
