MIne, Mine, Mine!

the only logo on the frame

3 August 2014 

For four months I have been hinting at this blog post.  Most of you have already figured it out, in no small part because I haven't exactly kept it a secret.

I know, I know.  It's so tedious to listen to someone go on and on about a new bike.  I mean, it's all right at first.  But ten seconds later, it's like, shut up already.

For those of you who have about as much patience as I do for this sort of thing, I'll try to keep it interesting.

It all started, well, I'm not sure when it started.  Part of it was because Jim would post pictures of pretty frames on his blog.  Many of these frames were lugged steel, and it's around then that I realized how much I like lugs.

I have two steel bikes in my stable now.  One is Kermit, my beloved Waterford. While Kermit is lugged, the lugs are painted over.  One has to look for them among the psychedelic swirls.

The other steel bike is Gonzo, a beat-up LeMond of unknown vintage, that I found on eBay, already beat up.  Gonzo is my winter beater bike turned commuter barge.  Gonzo is ugly, but, being a beater, beauty was never the point. Gonzo has no lugs.  

Steel and lugs don't have to go together.  Lugs are heavy, and good welding job can shave off some frame weight without sacrificing frame integrity.  At the same time, cheaper steel frames are often lugged because it's easier with cheap, heavy steel.  Here's an example from a frame I saw somewhere in Princeton:

If you look around on a typical group ride, you'll see mostly carbon frames.  I have one of those too (Miss Piggy).  The price of carbon has come down while the quality has gone up.  Most frames are mass-manufactured overseas, so that many brands are made by the same factories.  Frame-making in the United States isn't what it used to be.  Nowadays, only the high-end Cannondales are made here (Miss Piggy was made in China).  There are a few bespoke frame builders: Waterford, for example.

"Steel is real." 

I hear that over and over again from other riders when they see me with Kermit. But while the price of carbon frames has gone down, the price of steel has gone up.  Even the lightest steel tubing is heavier than carbon.  The good stuff isn't mass-marketed anymore.

One can still find old steel frames on eBay.  A vintage, lugged Colnago can fetch upwards of $1000, and that's a cheap starting bid.

I know because at the end of March I started looking.  Ed and Jim had stopped at Wheelfine Imports, an isolated shack at the top of Route 518 above Lambertville.  Jim posted pictures.  A few days later, as we parked our bikes in Clinton, I asked if any of the frames hanging in the shop were lugged.  Jim said, "Uh-huh" in a dreamy sort of way.

That's when it really got going.  "If you buy it, I'll build it," Jim said.  I declined. Where would I put a fourth bike, and why would I need it?  I use all three that I have.  I really don't need another.

But, theoretically, what would my ideal lugged bike look like?  Jim and I talked about it on the road (it must not have been a hill, because he was riding next to me).  "Either fire engine red or electric blue," I said.  Given the colors in my stable, and the colors that I wear, a simple paint job with standard colors seems out of character.  But that's what popped into my head.

That evening, over dinner with our usual weekend posse, I told Sean about it. He and I hatched a plan:  Gonzo's parts could be transferred over to a new frame.  I could give Gonzo's frame to Jim to play with and donate to the Bike Exchange. I'd gain a new bike without gaining in number.

When I bought Gonzo's frame on eBay in 2003, I paid $250.  I figured I might have to spend twice that now.  My eBay search began and ended within a week due to sticker shock. Sure, I could bid several thousand dollars to get a used frame, decades old; and I did, on a purple Colnago. But I refused to go over $1000 and lost the bid by $50 minutes away from auction's end.  I was only a little bit bummed out.  The frame might not have fit a 9-speed cassette, and it wasn't a simple, solid color either.  It would have fit into my zany zoo quite well, though, and it sure was pretty.

Minutes after the auction was over, Jack suggested buying a new frame. It would cost more, he said, but I'd know what I was getting, could pick the size to fit me exactly, and could choose the color.  He'd suggested this before; I'd declined out of guilt.  I should mention at this point that Jack makes a lot more money than I do (although both of us are in academia, so make of this as you will).  It would, in effect, be his money that I'd be spending.  He doesn't mind, though, because every bike I get gives him leverage to invest in vintage wine and vintage books. What can I say?  We have expensive vices.  At least they're somewhat utilitarian.

So how much would a new steel frame cost?  I asked Waterford, knowing that Kermit's list price was $1200 when I found him used in 2000.  Unpainted, without a fork, a new Waterford would cost $2000.  Add the fork and a simple coat of paint, and the price would be close to $2500.  Then there would be shipping.

I already have a Waterford.  What else was out there?

Infoguy read about my musings and emailed me that his single-speed Pinarello is chrome lugged (I have a picture of it online somewhere).  He told me where he got it, and I called the shop (I think it was BikeKing in PA).  The owner had one steel frame for sale, but when I looked it up online, there were no chrome lugs. I already knew that Ross wasn't selling lugged steel.

March 29 was a rainy Saturday.  I had to go into the lab to check on some mice, but first I called Wheelfine.

"Bike shop!"  This is how Michael Johnson answers the phone. Our conversation lasted upwards of fifteen minutes.  He knew what I was on about, and he had some frames on hand.  After I did whatever it is I had to do with my mice, I drove out to one of the middles of nowhere that we pass every weekend.  The shop sits on 518 at the corner of Hunter (a dirt road), surrounded by farms.  The entrance is on the side, a solid, unadorned, single white door.

This is what I saw when I stepped inside:

This is the front room.  Off to the left is another room, where, if one can get to it, one can shop for jerseys.

Michael directed me towards the window.  I climbed over comfort bikes to get there.  "See the Tommasini?" he asked.  There were two, one pale blue, and one snakeskin brown. I didn't much like the colors.  But the lugs!

"I can get you any color you want, any size you want."

That was it. Lug lust at first sight.

I told him about my unsuccessful shopping so far, about how I'd been thinking I could find a frame for $250.  "Add a zero to that," he said, something I'd already pretty much figured out.  The price for a new Tommasini would be no exception.

Another half hour, another customer come and gone. Talk of frames, forks, gearing, local roads. Frame size, color choice, and a promise to get back in touch on Monday with measurements and a look at Gonzo.

I had two days to change my mind.  I didn't change my mind.  I put down a deposit on Monday afternoon.  The order was placed on April 1.  Michael said he'd told the distributor that I didn't want any logos.  "She's a bike commuter in New York City," he'd said.  "But I'm not!"  "Work with me, here," he said.  The frame would be handmade in the Tommasini factory in Tuscany, Italy.  "It could take a few months," Michael said.

While waiting, my plans morphed from removing Gonzo's parts to building a new bike, relegating Gonzo back to beater status (winter rides and rainy commutes). Wheels stood in the way of that.  I didn't want to spend another $1000 on wheels. The very day that I had that thought, Tom Y sent an email around offering a $1200 pair of unused Mavic wheels (vintage 2007) for $350.  Sold.  On July 4 I took possession of the wheels.

Wanting the same setup as Gonzo and Kermit (39/53, 11/34, Shimano 9-speed), I went off to see Ross and Oscar at Hart's.  Shimano doesn't make Ultegra or DuraAce 9-speed shifters anymore.  It's all 10- and 11-speed now.  I could do that for $1500, but it would make the new bike incompatible with the others.  I want to be able to swap parts in an emergency.  I want the new bike to look old-school.  Ross suggested I search online; he'd contact a dealer on the west coast.

Turns out people are dumping 9-speed DuraAce all over the place.  I picked up 2 pairs on eBay for $100 and $150.  One of the two will be for the new bike; the other will be a spare set should something I own fail.  It was Oscar's idea to hoard spare parts.

I spent a little more money online to get the little things: bottle cages, a rear flasher, a wireless computer, tires, and bar tape.  Jim gave me a pair of "mickeys," in-line cable adjusters I can reach from the handlebars while pedaling.

Meanwhile, I'd been talking about the frame, disclosing all sorts of information save for the color.  As the season wore on, more and more people began to ask if the frame had arrived.  "Not yet.  I'm still waiting."

It took four months to the day.

The frame arrived at Wheelfine on Thursday afternoon.  Taking time off for time served (11+ hour days come in handy), I left the lab early, drove home to pick up the box of bike parts I'd accumulated, dragged Jack along, and headed to Lambertville.

And now, the big reveal:

Electric blue.

Chrome stays:

The fork is chrome.  There is one logo, on the headtube, an inlaid badge.

His name will be Beaker.

Because, well, given Beaker's profession and character, it makes all kinds of sense.

Right now, the bike is in pieces on a back shelf at Hart's. Ross has to accumulate more parts to fit my Guru measurements.  Oscar figures Beaker will be ready in a few weeks.  I've waited this long.  I can wait a little longer.