Monday, 30 August 2010


I've been trying to remember when I bought my first mountain bike, my beloved GT Tequesta, and I think it was 1992. I loved this bike. I still love this bike.

I bought it from Graeme Obree, when he ran a small bike shop in Prestwick. When I trashed the back wheel, Graeme built an absolutely bomb-proof one for me. In case you don't know, Graeme is a legend in cycling; read his story, and watch the film The Flying Scotsman.

The bike got abused, and maltreated, and always came back for more. I cycled straight into a parked car at 20 miles an hour and bent the forks right back into the frame. New forks (and a new helmet for me) and it was back skipping round my ankles like a happy puppy, desperate to be taken out again.

The very last time I rode it I took it to the beach. And rode it through the sea. All that poked out the water, like some steel framed nessie, were the saddle and handlebars. And then I put it away.

A dozen years later and it should be one big rusted lump. Gears, pedals, wheels, everything should be seized solid. But... the wheels spin freely, the pedals go round. And the gears shift seamlessly!

I love this bike. So have lavished a little tlc. New tyres, some shiny bolts, handlebar grips, pedals and a new saddle.

Isn't she lovely?

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