I slept with what was probably the 1994 or 1995 Yeti catalog under my pillow for years. The ARC was the target of my lust. I was still in college at the time, so graduating and keeping enough beans in the crock pot was a higher priority than the 3 kilo-buck dream machine I wished could replace my Bianchi Ibex. One day, I spontaneously made the 4 hour drive north to Durango. I booked the cheapest room I could find and called the Yeti factory. I blurted out my admiration for their company and product. To my total surprise, they invited me to take the last factory tour of the next day so we could go for a ride after they closed up. My memories of that experience are likely a bit clouded by the exposure to the only level of celebrity that meant anything to me at the time. I'm pretty sure I met, John Parker, and Frank the Welder, but I'm no longer certain. I think Claudia Schiffer was also there to give me a kiss on the cheek. What I am sure of (mostly) is that they offered to let me ride THE bike from the catalog I slept next to every night. I want to say we rode "Raider's Ridge" but I'm not sure if that's actually a thing. Whatever it was, it overlooked town, was rad beyond words, and the whole experience left me floating for months after.
I never got to pull the trigger on an ARC, but that bike is a huge part of my personal mountain biking history. It's a little sad to learn about how tumultuous things were behind the scenes of that halcyon memory. It is also a testament to the joy that underlies the business of these toys we love so. The two guys who took me out, were willing to put aside all the nightmarish horseshit they were dealing with and just show a kid from Albuquerque the time of his life. Maybe that's part of the secret juju that's kept Yeti out of history's dustbin all these years.
Oct. 7, 2023, 3:03 p.m. - [email protected]
I slept with what was probably the 1994 or 1995 Yeti catalog under my pillow for years. The ARC was the target of my lust. I was still in college at the time, so graduating and keeping enough beans in the crock pot was a higher priority than the 3 kilo-buck dream machine I wished could replace my Bianchi Ibex. One day, I spontaneously made the 4 hour drive north to Durango. I booked the cheapest room I could find and called the Yeti factory. I blurted out my admiration for their company and product. To my total surprise, they invited me to take the last factory tour of the next day so we could go for a ride after they closed up. My memories of that experience are likely a bit clouded by the exposure to the only level of celebrity that meant anything to me at the time. I'm pretty sure I met, John Parker, and Frank the Welder, but I'm no longer certain. I think Claudia Schiffer was also there to give me a kiss on the cheek. What I am sure of (mostly) is that they offered to let me ride THE bike from the catalog I slept next to every night. I want to say we rode "Raider's Ridge" but I'm not sure if that's actually a thing. Whatever it was, it overlooked town, was rad beyond words, and the whole experience left me floating for months after. I never got to pull the trigger on an ARC, but that bike is a huge part of my personal mountain biking history. It's a little sad to learn about how tumultuous things were behind the scenes of that halcyon memory. It is also a testament to the joy that underlies the business of these toys we love so. The two guys who took me out, were willing to put aside all the nightmarish horseshit they were dealing with and just show a kid from Albuquerque the time of his life. Maybe that's part of the secret juju that's kept Yeti out of history's dustbin all these years.