Monday, April 25, 2011
Gary at Bikerowave, looking dapper with his new pedals. The pink bottle cages don't threaten Gary's manhood at all.
Gary, an early 80's Centurion Accordo, is my race bike and my partner in crime. I would feel totally comfortable robbing a bank with Gary.
Yes, I know vessels are traditionally given a female name, but Gary's really more of a cranky old man. Stuff loosens up, tightens up and sometimes Gary can't keep things pointing up. If only they made a blue pill for bicycles.
I bought Gary at a garage sale - neglected, dusty, with flat gumwall tires, a rusty chain and horribly ugly 80's tape on the handlebars. My first thought was "this was somebody's race rig back in the day and what a shame it's come to this."
I talked the seller down to half of his original price due to Gary's condition, and thanks to my local bike co-op, I rebuilt, de-rusted, and retaped Gary, and now, although he's no longer young, he's once again tearing up the roads and schooling whippersnappers.
Gary in the transition area for the Pasadena Triathlon dry run. Gary just wants all those damn kids to get the hell off his lawn.
Gary's a gas to ride - he's fast and his more flexible frame makes him less squirrelly than the newer carbon bikes. Also, Gary has some serious style. Every training ride or race Gary gets many shout outs from passers-by about how good he's looking.
Me? Not so much.