Out of the REI and into the CCC

     In my last post, I neglected to shed very much light on a huge change in my life.  Back in April my wife Keri and I finally realized a long-held dream:  we unfurled our figurative sails and left the American Southwest for the Pacific Northwest.  We saved our money diligently for a year and were able to secure jobs at the Hillsboro REI, one of the four REI's in the greater Portland area.

     For four months we both worked at that REI, and although it wasn't necessarily bad, we weren't extremely happy with our new jobs.  For both of us, it was time to move on and stretch our wings and minds and grow a little.  The storm broke, and the same uncanny luck that carried us northward in the first place rewarded each of us with new jobs.  My wife got a job at Oregon Mountain Community, a high-end outdoor retailer focusing on skiing and back-country adventure.  She really likes her new job, and to be honest, the enormous bump in pay that came with her new job is unlike anything we've experienced.  We aren't making bank, but by our standards... we're making bank.

     I, on the other hand, got a job as a mechanic at the Community Cycling Center, a non-profit bike shop and organization that is a pillar of Portland's cycling community.  One day I wanted to go check out the shop, as I heard it is the place to go for used parts, so I ventured to the web site and noticed a "We're Hiring!" link, and something inside of my head clicked.  The Community Cycling Center is a bike shop unlike most bike shops out there.  The focus is on helping people with their bikes.  The focus is getting people on bikes as appropriately and effectively as possible.  The focus is not selling shit that people don't need.  A lot of the little burs that had been causing friction in my career at REI suddenly seemed they could--just maybe--be smoothed out.

     I applied.

     I interviewed.

     I got the call.

     As of now it's been a few days less than a month since my first day at the Community Cycling Center.  The transition has been overwhelming.  Although confident in my abilities and knowledge, there is always something unknown to know.  My usual creed of "I love old bikes" has shoved my foot into my mouth.  I have realized just how much I don't know about long-forgotten brands and styles.  Whereas before, old bikes were my specialty, I've found now my specialty might lay more with the modern stuff that doesn't come through the shop as much.  We'll see.

     Since I sold my Fuji I had been commuting on the mountain bike I inherited from my dad.  It got the job done but I was wanting to get a beater bike, something I didn't care about so I wasn't a nervous wreck when I took it on the train or locked it up somewhere.  My dad's Quintana Roo is valuable beyond words to me so it didn't make sense to take it everywhere with me, especially into a city as big as Portland.  Luckily, the answer lay in the GT Borrego frame I bought in Tucson over a year ago.

     It was time to build a bike.

Sayonara, Fuji-san

     Some people just like to have things.  For these people, the simple state of possession fills them with a satisfaction that is easy to achieve and hard to let go.  I am one of those people.  Fortunately, my wife is not one of those people, and so the compromise is that I can have things but only the most important of things to me.  Although I am resistant most of the time to part with these possessions, I mostly agree afterwards that it wasn't that big of a deal.  The act of letting go is usually more difficult than the period afterwards where you simply don't have the item.

     Some time ago I came to the hard realization that keeping my beloved Fuji S12-S touring bike just wasn't the best idea.  This was mostly brought on by the very slow-coming realization that the bike was just not comfortable to ride.  I have known the bike was too big for me for a long time.  My "fitted" frame size is 58cm... the Fuji is a 62cm.  Too much of a jump.  But I could still throw my leg over it and pedal it around, and in ideal circumstances it wasn't that big of a deal.

     But in less-than-ideal circumstances, such as logging miles on the side of the road alongside traffic, the bike became too much.  Away from the safety of the secluded bike path, the too-large frame was a little too unruly.  Too much of a reach to the bars, and too much of a reach down to the down tube to shift gears.  I stopped enjoying the ride.

     I also began remembering my time on my Cannondale when I first got it.  That bike felt so alive under me!  I would go out and just ride it for the sake of riding it--something I never ever felt compelled to do on my Fuji.  A couple of months ago when Keri and I tried out a bike path to the west of Portland, I thought about riding my Fuji--and decided against it, opting for my mountain bike.

     In an ideal world, Keri and I would own a house.  We would not feel compelled to move for several, several years, if at all.  And I would have space to store the Fuji, to occasionally pull it out, dust it off, and pedal it around for old times sake.  But this isn't that ideal world, and space is scarce.  The next time we move, I don't want to box it up again.  I currently have two bikes that are still boxed up from the move to Portland, simply because they take up less space in a box.

     So I let the ole Fuji go.  I posted an ad on craigslist for $350, and today I met up with a young gentleman who gave me the full $350 for it.  It was kind of hard letting it go but it was just time.  I had some good times riding it and better memories working on it.  The bottom line is that one day I realized I was more attached to it as simply a "thing" or a machine, and not as a bike to be ridden.  And a bike that isn't ridden, isn't really a bike.

     Sayonara, Fuji-san

The last picture I took of it, the one I used in the craigslist ad.  I had left everything on the bike except for my Brooks Saddle (of course) and my nice MKS touring pedals.  What you see here are the originals.
Taken on July 15, 2015

The bike's final rendition under my care, minus the addition of toe clips on the pedals.  Sure was pretty.
Taken on December 14, 2014

The day I bought 'er, in all of her 1980 glory.
Taken on August 12, 2011