First an apology. Or at least half of one. My promise to exit hedgehog stage left, so relocating the production of peak loquaciousness to Cranked comes with a rider. That’s a proper publication and this post is – at best – a random stream of consciousness. Seb deserves better – and for that the next missive is already chambered in the breech of recent Pyrenean experiences.
Until that, this. The Pyga has gone as part of a coping strategy bound up in two fatish bikes replacing two thinner ones. The Moustache exited the ShedOfDreams deep in midwinter and is delivering sterling service to a good mate. The Pyga had a rather more difficult parting, mostly because I didn’t really want to sell and it wasn’t quite the right bike for the bloke who insisted it was.
31 months I’ve had that bike. For me that’s basically an eternity. 4520 kilometres we’ve been together although tellingly only 45 of those have passed under wheel since the Bird flew into the shed last April. And that’s the problem, when I wanted a full-suss the Aeris was just better everywhere except maybe climbing and I’m way past caring about that. For thrashing about the Chubby is just a bit more fun, while for full on winter stupidity we have the cycling equivalent of the village idiot ready to go. Fat and Dumb.
Logically then no point keeping it. Hate having bikes hanging off the wall never ridden. And when I did all the old magic had gone. Which is odd considering all those local death marches, the weekends away, the foreign trips all the time honing the parts into a final configuration of light, strong and eye waveringly expensive.
Never really felt under-biked even with an entirely un-enduro 110mm of rear travel, and only an inch more up front. An observer from the flouro community would judge it a smidge big, way too steep and a little bit high. Which entirely fails to factor in the limiting variable hanging on too hard to the contact points.
Even so, when a mate of a mate wanted to try a new bike – the story behind that is in the next Cranked Mag – I offered him mine on the understanding it was to prove a 29er suited the taller gentleman, not for sale. He’s one of those at 6ft3 most of it leg whereas I’m on the line at 5ft11 with legs of stump.
He rode it and declared a passion for ownership but I wasn’t so sure. The seatpost teetered close to the minimum insertion mark, the reach looked cramped and even with a sellers squint it had the look of a bike one size too small. Being a honest sort of bloke I told him this, made him try H’s mutant sized Niner and offered multiple get out clauses if he changed his mind.
He didn’t. I still worried so threw in a longer stem and performed an act of oily alchemy* to add 2 inches to a dropper post. I still wasn’t sure and neither was the Pyga which clearly didn’t want to go.
Surprising really after I’d serviced it the night before alternating spanners and beers. The cool light of a spring day illuminated a non working front mech and a rear shock burgled of most of its air during the night. A tad embarrassing but nothing that some well placed blows wouldn’t put right for the duration of our ride together.
You see I wanted him to give it another go. Still time to walk away from the ride. No chance of that with conditions improving from ‘bloody horrible‘ to ‘mildly tacky‘ so everything seemed easier, more stuff was ridden, whoops were whooped, giggles were giggled.
Who am I – I thought – to deny a man whoops and giggles? He’s getting the bike at mates rates which translates to the frame essentially being thrown in for free. A frame which less than three years ago set me back £1,700. But now it owes me nothing at all. That’s a tenner per week for good times and great times. Cost and value right there.
Ride ended and the bike’s in his car. And in that perfect circle of endless revolutions, the man now owning the Pyga offered his previous steed to another mate who was about half his size. An offer which was gratefully accepted. That’s surely not going to end well.
Maybe I’m over-thinking this. Too late, there’s a gap on the wall and a bit of sadness in my soul. The Pyga was more than just a bike, it was permeable alloy saturated with a visual bank of brilliant memories. And while the Aeris is better, it’s marginal gains at best. So I’ll console myself with the clear fact it’s being enjoyed by someone else rather than languishing unloved in the shed.
Not sure I want to see it again tho. A bit like your ex turning up at your wedding.
*well Matt did. I stood in his garage wondering if anything needed hitting with a hammer.