The Warhorse and the Warhead

Three years ago, I embarked into the insane world of adventure racing, and the first thing I had to do was invest in a new mountain bike. I spoke with friends and other racers I had met, and armed with a cloudy sense of what I wanted, I made my way to a local bike shop to select my steed. While I do not regret the decisions I made way back when, I know a lot more about bikes and cycling now than I did then, and I am now quite aware that while my first bike might have been better in many regards than most people’s starters it was far from great.

At the time, I tested several bikes and ultimately settled on the Cannondale Rush. It was a true beauty: a deep mossy green, full-suspension bike with black accents that seemed to shift and run as smooth as a new slick of pavement. The drive train practically hummed as I rode it over the curbs behind the bike shop, marveling at how good it felt compared to the comparable hardtail builds I tried. There was no question, especially when I realized the bike was “on sale”, and I walked out of the store the proud new owner of a very fine first mountain bike, ready to embark on my racing career.

How glorious was that first season? I felt indestructible as my Rush carried me down trails I never imagined riding, and it easily allowed me to outbike my first several teammates. But gradually, I began to wonder if my old warhorse was actually holding me back. I began riding with and against better riders in my second season, and by the end, I found myself incredulously struggling to keep up with my new teammates from GOALS. And then the old tank began to break down. Problems with the drivetrain, problems with the breaks. Those shifters that seemed so great to my rookie eye were no longer so wonderful. Cables clogging up with the mud from rain covered courses. Miserable bike-whacks that left me jealously eyeing my teammates’ much lighter rides as I lugged, dragged, shoved and willed my bike along trails and off-trail stretches that were unridable. As I raced through my third season, I found myself increasingly disenchanted with the old tank, cursing it almost every ride, and I began pondering retiring the poor machine for something new.

As I slowly came around to the harsh reality that the bike that had once been my favorite possession and best non-animate friend and which had served me so well as I learned how to ride had run its course, I began hearing what my teammates had been saying for months: It’s all about the Niner. Perhaps somewhat foolishly, I committed to building one without even really trying to ride one, and with the help of Rob Garrison from Garrison’s Cyclery, I began to research parts and then slowly acquire them through any means possible: from E-Bay, dealers in the UK, dealers in Idaho, REI, Rob himself, bike swaps and other online dealers scattered throughout the states.

The parts began to roll in shortly after Christmas, but the one part I couldn’t get my hands on was the bike frame itself. My teammates had directed me to Niner, a company that only makes 29er bikes, and after my initial meetings with Rob, I settled on the Air 9. Made from Scandium, this hardtail frame was on backorder over the winter, but the word on the street was that spring would bring a new brood. That said, Niner had decided to cut their production when the economy busted last fall, but they were amazed to find that if anything demand actually increased for their product. The unfortunate result, however, has been that many of their frames, especially the Air 9, are essentially impossible to find.

As the winter ended and spring rushed by, I still didn’t have the frame. I had all the other components sitting on shelves, waiting to be assembled, but no actual bike. Some suggested I consider other frames, but seriously, how could I pass up on a bike made out of Scandium? For those without an idea what this somewhat rare element is, the Soviets found that Scandium was an ideal metal to use in the nose-cones of their SLBMs. When their warheads were carried by missiles made from Scandium, the Russians could launch a Submarine Launched Ballistic Missile from under an ice-cap without damaging the missile itself. Now who wouldn’t want to ride a bike made out of that?! Especially if you teach the Cold War to inquisitive young minds who could one day become mountain bikers themselves?

So I waited, every month expecting the frames to come in, and every month I was disappointed to learn that there were still no bikes to be had. I had one exciting showdown on E-Bay when some unknown seller put a frame up, but sadly, I was beaten out by a fraction of a second, and there weren’t any other opportunities to be had after that. I called shop after shop, contacted dealers all across the country and scoured the internet, searching for potential dealers in Europe as I heard a rumor my frame had been bought up by European sellers. But time after time I was left exhausted and depressed, wondering if I would ever get my bike.
But persistence finally paid off last week; after a long, silent pause, during which I had pulled up the next three random shops to call, a dealer in Colorado came back to the phone to say he did indeed have one small Air 9 frame in stock. While I hoped to save money on the frame as I did on almost every other part by seeking out the best deals, I knew there would be no deal to find if I wanted the bike for my summer racing, and so without much thought, I jumped on it. Three days later, I had the new frame in my hands.

While I still haven’t spent much time in the saddle of a Niner, I find myself infinitely more excited to ride and race, knowing that the old warhorse will be relegated to the basement where it can rest easy and slowly be improved and fine tuned for its future role as a backup. At some point, I think it realized its fate had been sealed and that I was moving on; on my last two rides with it, the brakes once again acted up after no issues whatsoever days before, both tires went flat and I got the nastiest case of chain suck I have ever seen. All that said, it’s served me well, and in memory, here are some of my fondest memories of and on the “tank”.

1) 23 adventure races over the past 3+ seasons, ranging from 6 hour sprints to 30 hour slogs.
2) In 2006, almost running over a timber rattler on a steep descent at the Krista G.
3) In 2007, losing control on the same steep, gravelly descent and ending up as airborne as a human being can be without purposely choosing to jump off something. Though my teammates and I were both amazed I was able to pick myself up, my nose hurt for weeks and the abrasions left marks for months. The bike? A broken shifter prevented me from shifting for the rest of the race, but thankfully it broke in the right gear and I could ride just enough for us to win the race.
4) Replacing the crappy treads the bike came with and falling in love with the bike all over again as I found I suddenly had far more control and confidence. In general, I’ve realized that it’s not totally the bike’s fault: it’s just surrounded my crap components. Hence my hope for a resurgence one day…after all, the new bike is a hardtail, and I might want a full-suspension ride again at some point…
5) After a strong year and without warning, the drivetrain basically stops working at Nationals in 2008. After the race I had to replace much of it, but that didn’t help as the bike was nearly unusable during Nationals and along with other decisions helped me and my fellow teammates to our first DNF.
6) While still no expert, I have learned more from bike maintenance thanks to this bike than I ever expected, and I’m hoping that now that it’s retiring, it’ll serve as my guinea pig as I learn even more.
7) I came to a point where I loathed this beast of a bike, but it did help me get into mountain biking and adventure racing, so I can’t help but loathe it lovingly…

And so, the new ride is sitting in the living room, waiting for its first break-in run around the woods. With boxes of parts in tow, I drove down to Garrison’s yesterday afternoon. Rob has done a fantastic job with his shop down in Centreville, and we had decided on yesterday to build it up. Not only had Rob given me a fair chunk of time as an adviser, but he agreed to build my Niner for me and also to let me watch/help. My assistance was limited, and I generally just watched him work his magic for several hours as the new bike began to gradually take shape. I was by no means convinced we would get her built all in one night, especially considering the months of misfortune that had plagued my search for the Air 9 frame, but as the witching hour approached, I found myself firmly set in the saddle, sailing around the parking lot on a ride that is, simply put, majestic compared to the beast sitting at home. Cutting nearly 10 pounds of weight off my old ride, I have no doubt that this ride will make those miserable bikewhacks slightly less miserable, and hopefully I won’t have to struggle quite as much to keep up with the serious riders of Team GOALS ARA. And watching Rob work was a learning experience unlike any other. Not only did I learn how to build a bike (not that I would actually do it myself with my limited tools and experience), but I learned a lot about little tricks and maintenance that I had either been misinformed about or had little idea of. And with that said, I’m off for my first ride. The old warhorse sits in the sunroom in hopefully happy retirement, and the new warhead is ready to soar…