Today I am going to reveal one of my dim, dark secrets. Yes, even at this late date, I still have them.
Here goes: I actually owned--gasp!--a Cannondale racing bike. One of the very first ones, in fact.
One might say it was one of my youthful follies. The year was 1984. I was working for American Youth Hostels. Back then, the organization was located on Spring Street, near Wooster, when the neighborhood (Soho) still had some halfway interesting art galleries and eccentric stores and cafes. At that time, AYH had an store and mail-order service that sold bicycling, camping, hiking and other outdoor equipment.
Back then, Cannondale was known mainly for its bags and outdoor wear. Their bike bags were actually well-made and reasonably priced: I used a few in my time. And I used one of their backpacks for the longest time. AYH employees were able to buy Cannondale goods at their wholesale prices.
So I became, in essence, a guinea pig. I bought their original model racing bike, with a full Campagnolo Nuovo Record component grouppo, for something like $500.
It was one of the first--and last--times I succumbed to the urge to be the "first kid on the block" with some new item.
The photo doesn't do justice to just how ugly that bike actually was. The welds were cobbly; later Cannondales have the smooth joints you see on today's models. Plus, the oversized aluminum tubes were very in-your-face, especially if you were used to steel-tubed frames.
Being a snot-nosed kid with something to prove, getting such a bike wasn't enough for me. I wanted to be really badass, so I got it in black. I don't remember what kind or color bar tape came with it; whatever it was, I replaced it with red Benotto cellophane tape. And, I got cable housings to match.
Aside from its proportions, another thing that struck me was how much lighter the bike was than others I'd ridden. Also, it was--as advertised--the stiffest bike I'd ridden up to that time. Maybe it's still the stiffest bike I've ever ridden.
What that meant is that the bike could go very fast. However, it also meant that it rode like a jackhammer. Even my young, sevelte self felt beat-up after a ride on it. I think that it actually slowed me down, ultimately: I can ride only so hard or so long when every bone in my body is aching.
A few people swore by those bikes. It's hard to imagine that anything Cannondale--or any other bike maker, for that matter--has made since then could be any stiffer.
Those early Cannondales came with CroMo steel forks--Tange, I think. I'd ridden the bike for close to a year when those forks were recalled. After I got my replacement, I stripped the Campagnolo components off the bike and replaced them with other stuff I had lying around or that mechanics of my acquaintancefilched fetched from their shops' parts bins. And I gave that Cannondale to my landlord for a month's rent.
Those Campy components went on to bigger and better things (ha!) I'll describe in another post.
Note: The frame in the photo is larger than the one I had. Plus, it has different components.
Here goes: I actually owned--gasp!--a Cannondale racing bike. One of the very first ones, in fact.
One might say it was one of my youthful follies. The year was 1984. I was working for American Youth Hostels. Back then, the organization was located on Spring Street, near Wooster, when the neighborhood (Soho) still had some halfway interesting art galleries and eccentric stores and cafes. At that time, AYH had an store and mail-order service that sold bicycling, camping, hiking and other outdoor equipment.
Back then, Cannondale was known mainly for its bags and outdoor wear. Their bike bags were actually well-made and reasonably priced: I used a few in my time. And I used one of their backpacks for the longest time. AYH employees were able to buy Cannondale goods at their wholesale prices.
So I became, in essence, a guinea pig. I bought their original model racing bike, with a full Campagnolo Nuovo Record component grouppo, for something like $500.
It was one of the first--and last--times I succumbed to the urge to be the "first kid on the block" with some new item.
The photo doesn't do justice to just how ugly that bike actually was. The welds were cobbly; later Cannondales have the smooth joints you see on today's models. Plus, the oversized aluminum tubes were very in-your-face, especially if you were used to steel-tubed frames.
Being a snot-nosed kid with something to prove, getting such a bike wasn't enough for me. I wanted to be really badass, so I got it in black. I don't remember what kind or color bar tape came with it; whatever it was, I replaced it with red Benotto cellophane tape. And, I got cable housings to match.
Aside from its proportions, another thing that struck me was how much lighter the bike was than others I'd ridden. Also, it was--as advertised--the stiffest bike I'd ridden up to that time. Maybe it's still the stiffest bike I've ever ridden.
What that meant is that the bike could go very fast. However, it also meant that it rode like a jackhammer. Even my young, sevelte self felt beat-up after a ride on it. I think that it actually slowed me down, ultimately: I can ride only so hard or so long when every bone in my body is aching.
A few people swore by those bikes. It's hard to imagine that anything Cannondale--or any other bike maker, for that matter--has made since then could be any stiffer.
Those early Cannondales came with CroMo steel forks--Tange, I think. I'd ridden the bike for close to a year when those forks were recalled. After I got my replacement, I stripped the Campagnolo components off the bike and replaced them with other stuff I had lying around or that mechanics of my acquaintance
Those Campy components went on to bigger and better things (ha!) I'll describe in another post.
Note: The frame in the photo is larger than the one I had. Plus, it has different components.
