I hope you’ll indulge me with an off topic newsletter about an important event in my life. Thanks kindly.

I recently gave away my old bike. It was the end of an era for me. For more than four decades, the lovely bike had served me well, taking me on trips ranging from short hops to the supermarket to an extended trip that covered more than 2,500 miles. I rode it at college, to many, many jobs, to do research on my books, for pleasure, for exercise. I rode it on 105°F plus days in southern Utah, on booger-freezing-cold days in Colorado, in clothing-permeating rainstorms in Seattle, and through the crazed traffic of Boston. More than any other inanimate object that bike helped define me for much of my life.

Growing up I was obsessed with bikes; I didn’t get a driver’s license until I was 21 years old. As I approached my 18th birthday, I decided to upgrade to a brand new bike, my first ever. I researched endlessly, dorking out on Bicycling magazine’s detailed tests on derailleurs, brakes, bike tube valve caps, brake pads, cranks, and hubs, and ultimately decided to buy everything separately. (I was so bike-focused I had planned to get an engineering degree in college and design alternative types of bikes, such as ones for carrying goods. This dream lasted until my physics class, when I got a 16% on a 3-hour quiz.)

I purchased a Mercian King of Mercia frame, a model the Derby, England-based company still makes. Although I ordered it through my local bike store, Montlake Bike Shop, I picked it up in England, after I joined my parents on my dad’s sabbatical in London. I remember fretting endlessly over the exact measurements and details, wanting to engineer a perfect touring bike. I finally went with custom braze-ons for extra water bottles, rack mounts, pump, and cantilever brakes, along with a custom paint job of Anquetil Blue Flamboyant and Ruby Flamboyant. It was gorgeous with white piping accenting the lugwork and brilliant dark blue and resplendent red tubes.

I assembled the bike in the summer 1983. Most of the parts came from local shops, chosen carefully based on my obsessive research. I even built the wheels by myself, using my favorite bike parts, Campagnolo hubs that I had had the good fortune (and totally cool bragging rights) to buy in Italy. The first time I rode my Mercian was one of the purest moments of joy so far in my young life.

In college, I am sure I must have been obnoxious about the bike, my pride in it, and my fixation on keeping it clean and safe. Once, when I was rather smitten with a young woman, I let her ride it and she crashed; fortunately no harm came to the bike. My Mercian was also responsible for where I am today. During my first break in college, when I rode with a group of students for four days to Aspen, Colorado, I ended up chatting with a geology major. He urged me to take Intro to Geology. I did, and when my failure at physics cancelled my bike-building dream, I decided to major in geology.

After college, I rode my Mercian from my roommate’s house to my home. He lived in Boulder, Colorado. I lived in Seattle. We spent seven weeks on the road riding across Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, up to Jasper, Canada, and back down to Washington and over the North Cascades. The bike performed ideally, except when a pannier fell off as I was descending Rabbit Ear’s Pass in Colorado at about 40mph causing me to fall. Amazingly, I only had a few scrapes, including one set of striations across my helmet. Several years later, I flew with the bike—packed lovingly—to New Zealand, where I spent 13 weeks riding around the North and South Islands. This time I remained upright the entire time. These two trips still remain as some of my favorite travel adventures.

When my wife and I moved back to Seattle, my beautiful, though now slightly dinged and scratched, Mercian remained central to my life. Some acquaintances, in fact, thought that I didn’t even own a car because they saw me only when I was on my trusty stead. My biking-past caused some problems though when we settled back in my hometown. I basically knew how to get around Seattle only by bike and I regularly ended up driving on routes more suited to bikes than to cars, which regularly, and understandably, annoyed my wife. Sadly, that is no longer the case, as I drive far more than I wish.

Like many a cyclist, I acquired several more bikes. I have had two mountain bikes, one city bike, one full carbon bike (a gift from a friend), and one non-touring bike. All have served my needs but none have come close to providing the satisfaction, joy, pride, and self-definition of my Mercian. Another reason I liked this bike is that I could repair any aspect of it, something I can no longer do with the more modern bikes I own.

I have to admit my relationship with my Mercian waned. Riding in a city of potholes, broken glass, bad drivers, and uneven pavement prompted me to purchase my city bike. I sit upright, which makes me more visible. It has more gearing, wider and beefier tires, and hydraulic brakes, which work far more efficiently though I no longer sport as muscular forearms. My Mercian ended up in the basement, and I realized after it sat there for several years, that I wasn’t going to ride it again. It was time to donate my beloved bike.

I have no idea of my Mercian’s fate but am reminded of something a friend told me when she was downsizing and shedding her art collection. She said that she had enjoyed and reveled in the artwork she had owned and now it was time to pass it on to someone new, who she hoped would find a similar joy. I feel the same way about my Mercian; even after 42 years, the Reynolds 531, steel frame is still in good shape, the hubs are Campy, and the rest of the parts fine. I trust that someone will continue to find years of joy and satisfaction in this unique bicycle.

Mercian, my Mercian. You treated me well and gave me many years of enjoyment. It is time to move on. I hope that you’ll bring joy to another. Long live my Mercian.

Safe riding to all.

I am pleased to announce that Mountaineers Books, which will publish my book about the Cascade mountains, In the Range of Fire and Ice, in September 2026, has set up a campaign that supports the press, the book, and PNW writers. If you are interested in donating, and getting your name in the book, here’s a link to how you can do it. I would be honored and humbled if you did. Thanks.

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