Rule #1

How I got my first (or second?) road bike.

An angel from heaven descended upon me, on one glorious summer day some years ago, to bestow me my first road bike. (Well, technically it was the second road bike I’ve owned. But just go with it.)

It’s a Merlin Light, titanium frame with components like a carbon Winwood fork and Campagnolo shifters, Sachs clipless pedals and a Cane Creek headset.

I’ll be honest, I had no idea what to do with a bike like that. I had grown up riding single speeds and the clicky handlebar shifter bikes around the neighborhood, to school, to work. I had only just recently begun consider taking longer rides. 

My boss at the time (who actually became my boss again recently) had — I guess — taken a liking to me. On this particular glorious summer day — when he took on the form of an angel, no an angel — he told me he noticed my infatuation with bikes and made a note. 

An avid roadie, he and his group of biker friends, who call themselves the Peckerheads, had an opportunity to build up a bike. They used an old frame they found in a friend’s garage who had recently been killed. (His wife was a judge. Someone she put away sought vengeance the night he got out. She wasn’t home, but her husband was, so the criminal tragically killed the husband instead.) The friend was also an avid roadie, an OG Peckerhead. Traveled across the U.S. on a bike. Went on all sorts of wild cycling adventures and typically spearheaded Peckerhead jaunts on the local routes.

This guy apparently had all sorts of parts and components lying around. To honor him, the Peckerheads took it upon themselves to build up a bike. 

When my boss met me, he told me he immediately thought I’d be a good fit for it. 

So one day he came over to my apartment. He said he had something for me. He opened up his trunk and there she lay, on a blanket.

“She’s yours,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I didn’t even know how to ride it. He gave me a quick rundown, handed me some shoes that were a bit too small and gave me three conditions to adopt as the Merlin’s new owner.  

“Now, Dillon. There are rules for having this bike. Rule number one: you must ride the f**k out of it. Second: you must become a Peckerhead, become one of us by riding with us and all that. And third: you gotta read this book.” 

He handed me a small, red book. It was a posthumously published memoir of the previous owner’s journey across the U.S. He had kept a journal during the cross-country adventure.

Misty-eyed, I agreed. He patted me on the back and drove away. 

I jammed my feet into the shoes, clipped in and started riding down the road. I shifted a few times to get a feel for the foreign drivetrain. I felt like I was flying. 

I didn’t even make it a quarter-mile before something happened to throw off my balance. Next thing, I’m smacking the pavement. It was nothing serious, but the impact was hard enough to have broken the rear derailleur.

I called my boss. He hadn’t even gotten home yet so he turned around, picked me up and took me to his garage, where he had bike tools and beer. He cracked one open, handed it to me and said, “Don’t worry about it. Shit happens.” 

Sage words.

Following Rule #1 has gotten me into all sorts of shit-happens experiences since then. As a result, I’ve accumulated some bike tools and basic knowhow to fix those mechanical issues that arise.

I’ve also learned some things about myself. Like, I can ride more than 100 miles at a time. Or, I can recover from getting hit by a car. Or, I can meet that deadline. Or, I can get that better job. I can be a good dad. I can be a good husband.

Following Rule #1 has made me, and will continue to make me, a better human.