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10/11/2008
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Does a
bike have a soul?
By Gary Fisher
I don’t think bikes are sacred.
But I know biking is.
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Maybe this sounds like sacrilege coming from a bike guy. But you’ve
gotta remember, bikes to me are just a means to an end. I spent 1974 ripping
apart cruisers because I thought it would be fun to propel myself and my friends
down mountains. It was fun, too, but many a bike met a strange and gruesome
fate in the process.
Gary Fisher getting his pre-race stoke on.
Stuff, in and of itself, just doesn’t
mean much to me. Bikes included. Really, what are they? Metal and rubber?
Joints and lubes? Come on. That thing is just one small ingredient in
the big, big recipe called riding. It’s almost a question of priorities;
if you’re too madly in love with a bike, maybe you’re losing
track of what really matters.
If I got my hands on Jimi Hendrix’s guitar, you know what I’d
do? Play it. Lick it. Sleep with it. Try to ride whatever wave Jimi left
in it, or at least get it to tell me some secrets. Maybe I’d even
set it on fire, just like he did.
Which gets me to my point. There’s one way for a bike to have a
soul. The rider has to put it there.
If I put my soul in Gary Fisher bikes, there wouldn’t be room for
yours.
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29ers a rollin' under the power of one speed.
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I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: The best bike is one
that disappears when you ride it. I live for the moments when the bike just blots
itself out, and every little element is singing the same note - me, the bike,
the trail, the sky, the dirt. Yes, yes, yes.
Maybe what I’m trying to say is this: ride more.
Get on a bike. Fall off a bike.
Leave something of yourself in it.
Does a bike have a soul? Only if you do.
Reprinted with permission from Fish - Gary
Fisher's bi-annual zine/catalog.
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