I had been cycling just long enough to know that the frame was different from any other I had seen.
Like nearly all quality lightweight bicycles of the time, it was built from high-grade steel tubing (in this case, Reynolds 531) joined by lugs. And there was nothing unusual about the finish, a pleasing but not flashy bluish-green, unadorned by pinstripes, bands or any other kind of markers. It didn't even have a decal bearing the name of its maker.
What I could see, though, were that the lugs--the longpoint "fishmouth" style popular at the time--were more meticulously finished than on any other frame I'd seen. And the paint had a "quality" look that made my Peugeot PX-10 seem about as refined as a tank.
That frame's owner had brought the frame, built with Campagnolo components, to Highland Park Cyclery, a New Jersey shop in which I would later work. I would ride with him later. I wasn't impressed with his riding (You might say I was a snot-nosed kid), but I liked his taste, at least in bikes.
As it turned out, that frame was built by Bruce Gordon. He was one of a group of builders, which included Mark Nobilette, who trained with Albert Eisentraut, possibly the first of the wave of American builders who would ply their craft in the 1970s. Eisentraut would stop building frames, and leave the bike industry altogether, a few years after I saw that frame.
Well, I have just learned that Bruce Gordon--who would go on to design and make racks as well as other parts and accessories for bikes--was found dead in his Petaluma (CA) home on Friday.
While he gained renown for his touring and racing bikes, he also was building 29ers and "gravel bikes" before they were called 29ers and "gravel bikes." He realized that some cyclists, particularly those accustomed to road bikes, wanted a bike that could be ridden on what the English call "rough stuff" but didn't want the width or weight of mountain bikes. Also, such bikes are more versatile than mountain or road bikes.
Gordon stopped building frames a few years ago. As I mentioned in an earlier post, building frames is hard on the body, and builders often quit after developing arthritis, carpal tunnel and other ailments. Two years ago, he tried to sell his business. A crowdfunding campaign was launched to buy his framebuilding shop and retail store. Apparently, it didn't work: Because of the large amounts of money needed to rent a space large enough for a shop, and for all of the other expenses (including inventory that may sell slowly), the bike business rarely proves lucrative. Custom frame building is even less so: It seems that those who don't retire from the trade for health reasons end up leaving it because, paradoxically, higher-end frames, bikes and parts have smaller markups, and sell more slowly, than mass-market stuff.
So, since he closed his shop, he had been selling his remaining inventory, equipment and intellectual property.
Although I never owned one of his frames, I will miss him, if for no other reason that he made what might have been the first unique bike I ever saw.
Like nearly all quality lightweight bicycles of the time, it was built from high-grade steel tubing (in this case, Reynolds 531) joined by lugs. And there was nothing unusual about the finish, a pleasing but not flashy bluish-green, unadorned by pinstripes, bands or any other kind of markers. It didn't even have a decal bearing the name of its maker.
What I could see, though, were that the lugs--the longpoint "fishmouth" style popular at the time--were more meticulously finished than on any other frame I'd seen. And the paint had a "quality" look that made my Peugeot PX-10 seem about as refined as a tank.
That frame's owner had brought the frame, built with Campagnolo components, to Highland Park Cyclery, a New Jersey shop in which I would later work. I would ride with him later. I wasn't impressed with his riding (You might say I was a snot-nosed kid), but I liked his taste, at least in bikes.
As it turned out, that frame was built by Bruce Gordon. He was one of a group of builders, which included Mark Nobilette, who trained with Albert Eisentraut, possibly the first of the wave of American builders who would ply their craft in the 1970s. Eisentraut would stop building frames, and leave the bike industry altogether, a few years after I saw that frame.
Well, I have just learned that Bruce Gordon--who would go on to design and make racks as well as other parts and accessories for bikes--was found dead in his Petaluma (CA) home on Friday.
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| Bruce Gordon, 2010 |
While he gained renown for his touring and racing bikes, he also was building 29ers and "gravel bikes" before they were called 29ers and "gravel bikes." He realized that some cyclists, particularly those accustomed to road bikes, wanted a bike that could be ridden on what the English call "rough stuff" but didn't want the width or weight of mountain bikes. Also, such bikes are more versatile than mountain or road bikes.
Gordon stopped building frames a few years ago. As I mentioned in an earlier post, building frames is hard on the body, and builders often quit after developing arthritis, carpal tunnel and other ailments. Two years ago, he tried to sell his business. A crowdfunding campaign was launched to buy his framebuilding shop and retail store. Apparently, it didn't work: Because of the large amounts of money needed to rent a space large enough for a shop, and for all of the other expenses (including inventory that may sell slowly), the bike business rarely proves lucrative. Custom frame building is even less so: It seems that those who don't retire from the trade for health reasons end up leaving it because, paradoxically, higher-end frames, bikes and parts have smaller markups, and sell more slowly, than mass-market stuff.
So, since he closed his shop, he had been selling his remaining inventory, equipment and intellectual property.
Although I never owned one of his frames, I will miss him, if for no other reason that he made what might have been the first unique bike I ever saw.
