On The Road
by: Bill Oetinger 1/1/2003
Dave and his Bike
A few months ago, I wrote a piece about the quiet pleasures of tinkering with one's bike. I waxed rather rhapsodic about my own bike, displaying a fondness for that collection of tubes and cables and components that might seem a little obsessive to someone who doesn't cycle a lot. I assume most of you who do bike a lot are fairly fond of your own steeds as well, and can relate. I'm hoping that you will therefore indulge me if I write a few more words about my bike, or more specifically about what, in the antique market, they would call my bike's provenance...its heritage and history.
I bought my bike used, and for the most part, this story is about its former owner, Dave Reiss, and how the bike passed from his hands to mine.
Dave died on August 30, 1993. I would like to have saved that important fact for its appropriate place in the story, but everything I say about him here must be written in the past tense, which would read strangely if you pictured him still alive. To save you any confusion, we'll get that out of the way up front. Dave is, alas, no longer with us.
Dave was a friend of mine. He lived in Sonoma County, but he had a job in far off Sacramento, to which he had to commute for some days every week. (He was Director of the Office of Demographics for the State of California.) He also held some position at Sonoma State University and had many friends within the academic community there. He was an avid cyclist and an accomplished one. He had done all sorts of notable rides, including the Davis Double Century, the Death Ride, Wine Country Century, Tour of the Unknown Coast, etc. When he found the time, he could most often be seen riding his Merlin--now my Merlin--up and down the steep hills near his home on the Russian River: King Ridge, Fort Ross, Coleman Valley.
But Dave was more than just a biker. He was a computer whiz, gourmet chef, a serious wine connoisseur and collector, hardcore backpacker, superb wildlife photographer, rock climber, and all 'round renaissance bon vivant. Perhaps the most notable feature about Dave--the thing that animated all of his endeavors--was a boundless enthusiasm and vigor...a love of life and all the people and things he encountered. He was extremely generous with his time and energy when it came to helping others. He lived life to the fullest...always right to the edge or a little beyond it. He accomplished more and had more fun in his 43 years than most people get around to in twice the time.
I first met Dave around 1988. I forget the year exactly, but it was at the time of the Wine Country Century (early May). I was planning on doing the 100-mile WCC that year, and my young son--then around 13--had decided he wanted to try the 35-mile version with one of his classmates. This was at a point in my own cycling career where I took myself very seriously. For me, in those days, centuries were nearly races. I rode them hard and counted coup all day long. I didn't really want to give up the opportunity that day to ride the whole century at my own fast pace and instead ride as guardian to two adolescent boys doing their first big ride. (I admit this with some embarrassment, as it certainly makes me look like an unsupportive dad, but in my defense, I don't think my son really wanted me along on that adventure. And I did find other occasions to go biking with him, which I will mention later.)
Anyway, Dave, who was friends with the parents of the other boy, offered to ride along with them, as a sort of neutral, non-parental adult. This was typical of his generous nature: to give up his own century ride to help out a couple of kids. That's when I first met him and also when I first saw his (my) bike: a classic Merlin. I think it was probably the first Merlin I had seen in person. I had read about them, and like many other riders of the day, I considered it the bike I would most want to own if cost were no object. Merlin was the first manufacturer to perfect the titanium frame, and they were definitely the hot ticket, and were priced accordingly. (Bicycling magazine did a survey about that time, and Merlin was the runaway winner in the category of Bike I Would Most Want to Own.) When I saw Dave's bike, I was hit with an instantaneous and powerful shot of bike lust.
Dave and I became friends after that, united by our passion for cycling. We shared the same circle of friends, and we often found ourselves together at parties and dinners, where we would huddle in a corner swapping bike lore.
A couple of years later, Dave was badly injured in a bike accident when he was hit from behind by an RV on Hwy 1, north of Jenner. His left arm, which took the brunt of the collision, was horribly mangled and required extensive reconstructive surgery, leaving him with essentially a bionic elbow joint. His arm never really worked the same again. Although the accident was clearly the fault of the RV driver, who had tried to pass when there wasn't enough room, his insurance carrier tried to make a case that Dave was at fault for "exercising bad judgement" by choosing to ride on such a busy highway. Dave had to take them to court to get them to pay up.
For some reason, he and his attorney thought I would make a good expert witness in the case (as the Ride Director of the largest bike club in the area). I was called in to make a deposition on the subject of riding on that section of Hwy 1, which we do all the time, as a club and individually. I don't know whether my input had any effect on the case, but the insurance company did eventually cave in and pay Dave's huge medical bills and a substantial sum for pain and suffering. In a strange twist, Dave finally got the check from the settlement the day he died.
He had just moved into a new house that day, and had been hauling in furniture with a borrowed pickup truck. Late that night, on his way to return the truck, he lost control on a steep, narrow, very remote mountain road and went over a cliff. He wasn't found until the next day, and they say he took all night to die. It wasn't nice at all. When the insurance company in the RV case found out Dave had died, they instantly wanted back all the settlement money that had been allocated for his pain and suffering. Their reasoning: he wasn't suffering anymore was he? Never mind that it may have been his weak left arm that caused him to lose control of the truck...
Dave's passing was a cruel blow to all of his friends, but we rallied round and held a wake for him that celebrated his life as he would have wanted us to. At a home out in the country, west of Sebastopol, we had a huge dinner party, with several whole salmon thrown on the barbie. Best of all, according to the terms of Dave's will, we were invited to toast his memory with generous samplings from his own prodigious wine cellar. We polished off any number of dusty old bottles of Mouton-Rothschild and Chateau Latour, and then we all gathered in a circle on the lawn and told our best Dave stories. It was a moving farewell to a wonderful friend.
After a suitable period of mourning--like maybe two days--I called his live-in girlfriend and asked her what her plans were for Dave's bike. I didn't want to seem overly covetous, but I wasn't sure she appreciated what a special bike it was. I was afraid she might just drop it off at the Goodwill or something. No, she said, she was eager to see it end up in the hands of one of Dave's friends...someone who would enjoy it as much as he had, and who would remember Dave through his bike. She talked to the guy who had originally built up the bike--Paul Brown of Cycle Dynamics--and we collectively agreed on a price (less than half of what a new Merlin would have cost), and the deal was done. (I should perhaps mention that Dave and I rode the same size bikes, and so his was a perfect fit for me.) I bought the bike of my dreams for a bargain price, and better yet, it came with a legacy of built-in magic from its former owner and rider...good karma, if you prefer that particular metaphor. At least that's how I've always felt about it. I often think about Dave when I ride his bike. I ride the same roads he rode, and I like to imagine that he's riding with me, in some spirit form, as I (we) crest the rise on King Ridge or plunge down to the sea on Coleman Valley Road.
The bike was well used when it came to me. Dave had logged a lot of miles on it, and most of the components were at least a little scuffed and tatty. But you know what they say about good titanium frames: they're virtually indestructable. (This is not absolutely true, as some ti frames do break, but it is truer of the old, straight-gauge Merlins than of probably any other bike you could name.) As things turned out, I was soon able to replace all those old, tattered parts...for free.
Remember my son? I did go riding with him eventually. When I got the Merlin, he asked if he could ride my old steel bike (a quite good KHS). On our first ride together, and only my second ride on the Merlin, I had a bad accident. We were bombing down a hill at about 30-mph when a golden labrador shot out through a gap in a hedge and dashed straight under my front wheel. I never had a chance to even reach for the brakes. I hit him at about his shoulder and launched into a spectacular front sommersault, still attached to the bike. I landed flat on my back and then did a few barrel rolls down the pavement, while the bike continued on a bouncing, cartwheeling course of its own.
Amazingly, I escaped with only a tiny patch of road rash on one leg and a few bruised ribs. The bike was trashed. The frame was, as advertised, indestructably unharmed, but almost every single component on it was mauled. Handlebars, brake/shifter pods, forks, wheels, seat, derailleurs, cranks, pedals...all destroyed. Only the stem and seat post survived.
Fortunately, we were able to follow the dog to his home, just across the road. (The 100-pound dog appeared completely unhurt and unfazed by the collision.) As we approached the house, we heard someone calling, "Has anyone seen Goofy?" Oh yeah, we got your Goofy right here folks! The people were terribly upset and contrite. They even gave me and my poor bike a ride home. And their homeowners insurance paid to get everything on the bike replaced. So, within a week of acquiring the bike, it was rebuilt with all new Dura-Ace components, lovely new wheels, etc. I ended up with what almost amounted to a brand new Merlin for less than half price...plus of course the price of those few bumps and bruises.
It's not a method I would recommend for getting a great deal on a great bike, but it adds to the charm of the bike for me, investing this supposedly lifeless object with a vitality and energy that a new, off-the-shelf bike would never have. The bike now has a unique personality...a history and character all its own. It had several years of adventures with that excellent fellow, Dave Reiss, including his terrible accident, and then it came to a new home and a new rider, and has had almost ten years of further adventures with me. (And though many of the bits on the bike have had to be replaced over the years, it's still going strong.) Is it any wonder that I sometimes simply sit and look at my bike, the two of us quietly companionable, like two old friends who understand one another in ways beyond words?
Bill can be reached at srccride@sonic.net