Saturday, February 16, 2008

Riding My Way Out Of Sickness: A Fugue

I have been very, very sick since the end of last week. I've had very flu-like symptoms, but I don't have a fever, so it may be some kind of otolaryngological malady (my balance has been affected; if I turn my eyes quickly, I feel like falling over and throwing up; these episodes are sometimes accompanied by a buzzing in my ears and an involuntary shudder in my neck and shoulders).

One of the things I've learned is that if I pamper myself, I end up being sicker, longer. So, I've gotten into the habit of plotting, at the first sign of sickness, when to get back on the bike.

I can't always do it right away. On Wednesday night I got on the trainer, turned the pedals once, and got off. Nope, not happening. I was weak as a kitten.

Thursday was the day, though. I went to Kempton Baker's spinning class, equipped with Snausages, and a resolve to take it easy, be reasonable, just spin lightly, you're sick, don't kill yourself.

Fifteen minutes into the class, I was bereft of both Snausages (good job, Jack!) and resolve. I think I put in about a 75% effort. And on this day, Kempton was on some sort of hallucinate-or-die vision quest or something. It was definitely a high resistance, high cadence, endurance day. A consolidation day. For my classmates who were able to do the full 100%, I salute you. I had on my Sean Kelly face. And, yes, I was drooling.

That effort, after being off the bike (and weak) for nearly a week, triggered the mother of all endorphin surges. That afternoon, I sat at my desk, intensely happy, with my mind skipping from memory to memory, a twining of music and cycling.

I have a bit of a crush on Kate Pierson of the B-52's. It's been said that Bessie Smith's voice could make a man get up from the audience, and walk onto the stage, without realizing what he was doing. Well, Kate Pierson's voice can make me get on a bike and ride and ride and ride til I've rid myself silly.

I remember first hearing the song Shiny Happy People, pairing R.E.M. with Kate. It was in Philadelphia. I was having my hair cut by Kevin Gallagher, father of my son's best friend, Ian, and husband of one of Nick's Montessori pre-school teachers. Kevin was an artist-turned-hairdresser; later he would take up bike racing. He and his wife Lisa ultimately bought a mansion on The Wall in Manayunk. Anyway, when I heard Kate's voice, I melted, absolutely melted.

Of course, R.E.M. has always had a very special place in my heart when it comes to cycling. R.E.M. was in my ears in the summer of 1985, the summer I spent in Chicago. It was a weird time. My then-wife was working at a summer internship at a law firm, and I was rail-commuting from Chicago to Ann Arbor for my job. For me, that meant working at home several days a week, so I was the primary caregiver for Nick, who was only nine months old at the time.

We were living in a basement apartment in a little neighborhood just north of Lincoln Park, a nice enough place. The owner had left his record collection, which enabled me to find Roxy Music's album Avalon, on which I wore out More Than This. But since I was taking care of Nick, I had to do some pretty crazy things to get my riding in. For instance, I used to get up at 4:30 A.M. so I could be on the road by 5:00, riding up toward Kenilworth. On the ride back down, I'd hit rush hour traffic. I fancied myself a sprinter in those days, so I'd motor-pace behind cars at 35 m.p.h., with no helmet (this was the age of leather hairnets), on Ashland Ave. I was in a rush to get back home by 8:30, so Nick's mom could head off for work.

The other thing I'd do was train at Northbrook velodrome. My genius plan was to set up Nick in a playpen in the infield, and then ride around. My plan had two flaws. First, I didn't want to make two trips from the car to the track (which was a bit of a walk away from the parking), because I didn't want to leave Nick alone in the car, or at the track. So, I'd carry Nick and the playpen and the bike and the floor pump, all at once. Second, Nick didn't want to be left alone in the middle of this huge field, seeing his Dad whiz by every 30 seconds. Poor kid. I think I scarred him for life. But I did learn to sprint at a top speed of 42 m.p.h. The national Veterans' Pursuit Champion was also training there, and he did a bit of mentoring with me. He got me doing 1K time trials, using sophisticated instrumentation to gauge my effort: "If you don't feel like throwing up, you're not going hard enough; if you throw up, you're going too hard."

(Ed. note, post-fugue: What I called "sprinting at 42 mph" in this paragraph was actually just riding a track bike at a velodrome at that speed, taking advantage of the banking. It wasn't sprinting. Sprinting is quite something else, an art, involving at least two riders, calling on both strength and tactical skill. In this sense, I never sprinted on a track.)

Another thing I'd do to squeeze in some training was to ride the rollers during Nick's nap-times. My brother-in-law had given me a pirated copy of R.E.M.'s Fables of the Reconstruction, and Maps and Legends was the perfect song for the rollers.

On weekends, everyone would head up to Kenilworth. On both Saturday and Sunday, well over 100 cyclists would converge on Kenilworth Cyclery, and take over the roads north of Chicago for an informal mass-start race. We'd all ride out together, and then when we got to a certain point -- I believe it was just after we crossed a highway overpass -- the race was on. There were some high quality riders there. Once someone pointed out a guy in a 7-Eleven uniform and said it was Alex Stieda. Was it? Who knows? But it was plausible.

It was in these Kenilworth races that I first realized that bike racing would never be my day job. I was in a group of three, trying to bridge from the peleton to the Category I and II riders up head (who for us, were "the break"). I was burying myself to make it work, but after a few minutes, one of the guys sat up and said to the other "well, we've just been blocked." I was humiliated and broken. Think: Charlie Brown, leaving the stage of the school Christmas pageant, after Lucy calls him a blockhead, and all the other kids laugh at him in eerie unison.(Editor's note, post-fugue: What do you think of this as a jersey design?)

But even if that was the beginning of the end of my dreams of bike racing greatness, it was still a shimmering time. In Cuyahoga, Michael Stipe reminisces:
Bank the quarry, river swim.
We knee-skinned it you and me,
We knee-skinned that river red
I don't know what this means (any more than I know what any of what Michael Stipe sings means). But, whenever I hear this, I feel the magic of hot rural summers in the Midwest, before suburban sprawl, when kids had time to learn and explore the world around them. The summers of Bloomington, Indiana (where Carol used to teach and ride), of Breaking Away.

I know these summers. I started cycling in Ann Arbor. I remember how wonderfully easy it was to get out to Dexter on Huron River Drive, and from Dexter to Parker Road, flat as a pancake, surrounded by farmers' fields as far as you could see. Where you'd encounter more tractors and horses than cars. If we were ambitious, we'd ride Dexter-Chelsea Rd., hoping for the Amtrak to go by so we could race it into Chelsea. The Cat II's would then ride on to Silver Lake.

The two Cat II's I remember are Angelo Chinni and Wild Bill Corliss. I was saddened to learn that Bill died recently in a bike crash. He went down at the back of a group a cyclists riding in Utah, and then was hit by a truck. But Bill was making a living in cycling, working as Director of Development for Specialty Electronics, for Bell Specialty, and as a mentor for the Park City Bicycling Academy. I can still remember when Bill got his brand new frame from Mark Nobilette . He was like a kid at Christmas! (Trying to remember what Bill rode before that, but I can't. Ed. note, post-fugue: Bill's brother Greg has filled in this gap -- it was an Eisentraut) I'm not sure what happened to Angelo. He was a very nice, and obviously very talented, kid. He was a protegé of Mike DeEstrada, a tough (and quite raunchy) little veteran with a heart of gold who lived out west in Jackson, but who was one of the centers of our racing community.

(Ed. note, post-fugue: It's no surprise that Bill ended up mentoring for PCBA. He was a natural mentor. I remember we were on a training ride he was leading, and he was looking after a couple of new guys. Inevitably, someone picked up the pace on a hill, and we followed. Bill caught up to us and told us that he was hanging back because one of the new guys had lost his lunch. I, being: 1) oxygen-deprived, 2) not familiar with the expression, and 3) just not that bright to begin with, earnestly offered to go back and help Bill look for it.)

If I didn't head northwest on Huron River Drive, I'd head up north on Pontiac Trail, and cut west on Eight Mile Rd to Whitmore Lake. At a certain point on Eight Mile, there was a farm dog who'd come whipping around the corner of the farmhouse, angling toward the road, to intercept me. That was my sprint training. I know this is also a scene in American Flyers, but I swear, I used to do this, this is not a "manufactured memory." And to go Kevin Costner one better: once, just as I thought I'd gotten away, my rear tire punctured. Thank God it didn't roll (we all used sew-ups then), and I was able to keep up enough speed til he lost interest. This happened! (We had all learned the value of riding on a flat when Roy Knickman won the Junior road championships in a sprint after his rear tire rolled on the last corner before the line.)

(Ed. note: The dog: I let him get away.)

These things, and many more, I remembered, sitting at my desk Thursday afternoon, as my memories overcame and overpowered me.

And now, a confession. I was happy to revisit these memories, so happy I was crying. I sat at my desk smiling, with tears streaming down my face. Luckily, I could pass off the sniffling as after-effects of my sickness.

By the end of the day, the surge had passed. Now I am on the mend. But it's been awhile since I've thought about these parts of my life. You know what? I have no regrets.

Except maybe leaving little Nick in that playpen in the infield of Northbrook velodrome.


Gregory Corliss said...

Hi Thanks for the kind thoughts about my brother Bill , but I wanted to point out that he was killed in Utah , not Colorado as mentioned in your post.
Greg Corliss

Ted Diamond said...

Thanks, Greg. I never did have a good sense of direction.

I said a lot in the posting, but I'll say it again -- Bill was a really special person. I was no great shakes on a bike, but he took a lot of time mentoring me. I am very, very glad that he got to spend his life doing something that was very important to him.

Ted Diamond said...

Bill's family has set up a bicycle advocacy fund. Please donate if you can:

Contributions to the "Bill Corliss Cycling Advocacy Fund" may be made at the following location
Bill Corliss Bicycle Advocacy Fund
Frontier Bank
PO Box 981180
Park City Utah 84060
(435)615-BANK (2265)

Ted Diamond said...

I've been thinking about Bill Corliss a lot these past few days. Some fragments of memory are coming back.

First, a disclaimer. Although Bill was a very prominent person for me, I was just one of many people who passed into Bill's orbit. To him, I was an acquaintance. To me, he was a few steps up from that -- a bit of hero.

First time I saw Bill (at an organization meeting of the Univerity of Michigan cycling club, run by Marion Hoyer and Frank (Franz) Demerath), he was scruffy, with a beard. This did not look like the images of the Bernard Hinaults and Greg Lemonds I had been seeing in magazines. But it was winter, and he was in cross-country skiing mode. As the spring came, the lean, clean, angular Bill would emerge.

I remember that Bill had a very good friend who was often with him -- an extremely talented Cat II (I think) who was really nice, really quiet, and kept a really low profile. I think his name was Rick Levine. I remember him ofter training in a white, unmarked jersey.

I've been trying to picture Bill in a jersey. The image finally came to me last night. I believe Bill was a Schwinn Wolverine (Mike Walden's organization, based in Detroit, which was moving a very young Frankie Andreu up the ranks at the time). He definitely was not in the Ann Arbor Velo Club (later, the Great Lakes Velo Club). Later, I think he may have joined the team sponsored by the second bike shop in Ann Arbor, Multigear. I seem to remember Bill, Marion Hoyer, and Lee Kalmbach (a sardonic, funny Cat III with a wicked sprint) riding for Multigear.

Only once did I see Bill angry. I think there was a touch of rivalry between Bill, on the one had, and Angelo Chinni and Mike DeEstrada on the other. Or maybe that's just what it seemed like to those of us with much less ability than those three. Anyway, it was at the weekly Tuesday evening Research Park criterium training session, just south of Ann Arbor. I was in the pace line, in the (simulated) bell lap, with Bill and either Mike or Angelo ahead of me, fighting for a wheel. Some harsh words and threats were spoken -- what we today call "trash talk". I cowered -- what do you do when your heroes argue? Anyway, within a matter of minutes, after the sprint, Bill and Mike (or Angelo) were talking amiably, patting each other on the back. I was dumbfounded.

But I've come to understand that at that level, harsh words, spoken at a moment of intense physical exertion, are one of the necessary forms of social interaction that establish control and limits, allowing a group of people riding inches from each other at 30+mph, making snap decisions, to survive. So what I was seeing that day was not Bill losing his temper; it was Bill exhibiting a life skill for the peleton.

Ted Diamond said...

Another memory fragment from Ann Arbor. One of the people who started racing with me was this guy named Bruce, good friend of Frank Demerath, riding a black Medici. I can't recall his last name, but he was the spitting image of Freddy Mercury. In fact, given Queen's experience with bike-related music, it may very well have been Freddy Mercury. Yup, it was Freddy Mercury. But then again, I'm convinced that the guy who lives across the street from me is Eddie Vetter.

Anyway, Freddy/Bruce was with me on a rather fateful day. It was early season, and only he and I showed up for a training ride. It was bitterly cold. Very early in the ride, I narrowly avoided the "door prize": just after Bruce passed a parked car, the driver flung the door open, and I twitched the bike just enough to avoid the door by a hair's breadth. From that day, I wonder how things would have turned out if we'd come one that car at the end of the ride, instead of the beginning. Makes me shudder.

Freddy/Bruce injured his knee on that ride. I can't remember if there was an impact involved, or whether he hurt himself by riding in shorts on a day that was so cold, and on which we were caught in a severe snow shower. I believe he never did race after that day.

Ted Diamond said...

Just called the bank to confirm the fund is still active, and confirm the address:

Bill Corliss Bicycle Advocacy Fund
Frontier Bank
PO Box 981180
Park City Utah 84098

Note the zip code is different from that in earlier post,

Ted Diamond said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Ted Diamond said...

Bruce Dykaar, that's his name. From

To defend our club’s honor, a four-man AABTS team was fielded for the Second Annual “Big Mac Attack” Team Time Trial in 1983. This marathon event was a 175 mile non-stop race from Mt. Pleasant along scenic and winding old highway US-27 to the Mackinaw Bridge, in which
the competing teams rode tight pace lines at flat-out speed. Our AABTS team soundly defeated the Ann Arbor Velo racing club, and placed 2nd overall. The following year the Velo Club’s description in the Ann Arbor News Recreational Supplement was changed to read “racing and touring.” We also fielded a team the next year in which the Velo Club didn’t enter, and AABTS again placed 2nd overall, barely bested by the ringer Grand Rapids racing team composed of licensed Cat I racers. Our first year team members were Tom Rymanowicz (Bike Shop Owner), Jim Datsko (lawyer), Duane Thomas (Landscaper), Phil Howrey (Econ. Prof.), and Mike Muha - alternate (Computer Guy). The third year was the charmer, when Lew Kidder led a team with David Evans,
Bruce Dykaar, and Dave Baty to a solid first place overall.

Another name from the past: Rich Grabowski. This kid came out of nowhere, and by the time I left Ann Arbor, he was a Cat 3, well on his way to Cat 2-dom. From him, I learned to always keep my front derailleur well adjusted. In the split second you have to react to an attack, to jump onto a passing wheel, you can't afford to fumble with a shift or drop your chain! He taught me that in a paceline, you jump first and think later. By the time you realize an attack is under way, and decide you're going to follow it, it's too late.

Anonymous said...


It was very nice (and very nostalgic) to read what you have written about summers, riding and racing in the midwest in the early to mid 1980's. You have a talent for writing about and conveying the wonder of those experiences.

When I clicked on the link and read about Bill, I was very saddened. He was an amazingly strong rider, and I was always impressed with him. I remember watching him ride away from us in the Barton Hills workouts we would occasionally do. He was lean and light and could shoot up those steep grades with a grace that concealed the effort we all know it takes to climb quickly.

It is also fun to read about "The big Mac Attack" and how the AABT club tought us a lesson in longer distance endurance. I remember riding that race one fall (the first and last time I ever did it) and thinking the day was going to start cool and then get warmer. I wore lycra (back when lycra was sort of "new") and it got cold instead. It rained and was in the 50's. It was miserable. If I remeber right it was Myself, Rich Grabowski, Joe Gross and Ted Chesky (is that you?) who made up the Velo Club team. We finished third behind the AABTS and the Grand Rapids team (with Jeff Ensing - who I beleive was a national road race champion one year or so later).

Thanks for capturing the memories.

-Angelo Chinni

Ted Diamond said...

Angelo! Angelo! Great to hear from you, man! As you can tell from the post, I've been thinking a lot about you guys, and bits of memory keep coming back!

The other names you mention are familiar, too -- Joe (shortish, had a mustache? I once tried to convince him that the IBM PC was a passing fad), and Ted Chesky. And there was another guy -- tall, thin, curly hair -- he had the first frame I'd seen with internally-routed cables, I ended up taking him out in a crash in the road race of my first (and last) Detroit Week series.

If you're ever in the Pacific Northwest, get in touch. My email is 'ted' followed by a dot followed by 'diamond', then the at sign, and then Google's public e-mail domain.

Ted Diamond said...

Ted Chesky. The other Ted. The better Ted. Ted was a Cat 3 when I left, and was improving all the time. He was also extremely smart, extremely nice, tall, thin, handsome, ... everything I was not. (Except tall, but it's not as if I had to work at that, was it?!)

He also worked in a bike shop in Ann Arbor: Multigear.

I remember, he was the first person I showed this freak winter bike I had built up. I had built up a set of 700cc wheels with knobby tires on metallic-red BMX hubs, and put them on my fixed gear winter bike, which I'd built up from an early 70's green Raleigh Super Course frame. I used this bike to ride around in the Nickels Arboretum, and along the railroad tracks and banks of the Huron River, in the snow.

I was looking him up, and saw his name turn up in race results from not too long ago. Better Ted, if you're out there, get in touch!

Ted Diamond said...

Couple more memories:

1) Angelo, you took us out one day early season to play bike tag, to improve our bike-handling skills. I was riding fixed gear that day -- the only one of us -- but I still couldn't catch anyone when I was "it" -- just couldn't accelerate enough, or change direction quickly enough.

2) Barton Hills -- where we went for hills. Barton Hills was Ann Arbor's most exclusive residential enclave. Tucked up on the north side of the river, on the way to Whitmore Lake. In a flat place, those were some seriously sharp hills, albeit short.

3) Angelo, I remember once on a training kind, we got hassled by some guy in a jeep. You took off after him, and -- am I making this up? -- caught him! Another memory, based on hearsay, so maybe this is completely fabricated: I remember hearing that, when down in Florida one winter (where you went to train), you spent a night as a guest of local authorities after a difference of opinion with a local motorist that ended up with your water bottle on said motorist's windshield.

Anonymous said...


I had a bit of an Italian temper. . . Caught up with a few drivers and had some words that I would reprimand my son for using if he were to do so today. The water bottle incident is true.

There was a particularly memorable Friday in Florida, at the end of a training camp, and I did spend the night courtesy of the local authorities. That was a weekend to remember. . . The following Sunday, I raced in a criterium in Lakeland Fla, and managed to experience the worst crash of my career (probably because I was sleep deprived, as I was not able to sleep in the accomodations provided). I had already registered for the race, and I needed money, so. . . Anyway, I crashed at speed into a short "fence" made of galvanized steel posts with chain hanging between them, which was right up against the edge of the course (no hay bales or anything). My front wheel must have hit one of the posts and I flew pretty far (I was bridging to a breakaway that had Jeff Rutter and some others in it), before landing on my back, square on one of the posts, flipping again and striking another with my knee. I remember hearing and feeling (what I thought was) my collar bone breaking (it was actually two ribs -right between my shoulder blades). My knee was sliced open as well, and I ended up getting a whole lot of stiches and having to lay off riding for a couple weeks, then start back pretty slow. In the 5 years of racing that made up my short career, that was the only crash where I wasn't physically able to get back on the bike and continue riding. After a couple months though, I was racing again.
Later that year I began riding in Indianapolis, where (oddly enough) I now find myself living. I plan on working with Ken Nowakowski (my 1985 National Madison Partner, and definately one of the best riders who ever came out of Michigan). He is the current Major Taylor Track Racing Director. I think I'd like to coach and get more younger kids involved in racing.


Ted Diamond said...

Ken Nowakowski -- the name sounds familiar, but I can't put a face to the name.

Indianapolis, huh? Way cool! My wife lived in Bloomington for several years, and she still thinks that's the best riding she's ever done. I'm glad you're looking at youth training on the track -- mentoring is noble.

Angelo, if you're ever out Seattle way (we've got a velodrome here, too!), let me know, and we'll have a cuppa coffee. You can email me at "ted", then a dot, then "diamond", the "@", then ""

Phil said...

Wow! Does this bring back memories. I still remember the training rides (at runway plaza?) that helped me get started in the old farts division. And Angelo's advice on points races and time trialing. And Phil Farber calling me on Friday night to warn me not to feel bad if I got dropped on the Saturday training ride. And the never to be forgotten Big MAC Attack. I now live in Boulder CO, a biking mecca. So if you are in the area give me a call and I can point you to Jamestown.
Phil Howrey

Ted Diamond said...

Phil! Good to hear from you! I distinctly remember struggling to keep up with you & Paul Almond on Huron River Drive. (I also remember you teaching Mathematical Statistics, and me being awed by the idea that common statistics could be derived from moment generating functions!)

Will definitely look you up if ever in Boulder. And should you venture to the sunny (ha!) Northwest, please contact me at ted.diamond at

Anonymous said...

I read about Bill getting killed back when it happened. tragic to say the least. I knew him when he was in the Chicago/Evanston area (with Schwinn?)in the late 1980's as I worked at TURIN Bicycles and raced a little bit. He always had the coolest/newest stuff out there. The TURIN Bicycles training rides were epic, with Bill Corliss and Mike King mentoring, while simultaneously HAMMERING the crap out of us Cat 3's and 4's!! (some 2's were along as well.) It is GREAT to see the continued love of the sport, it's people, with us and not, and wish you all the very best, BE SAFE, Alex Voog - Chicago

Anonymous said...

Shoot, I meant to say that Jordan Corliss's letter ripped my heart out. THANKS for posting it.

Anonymous said...

Thanks for all you kind memories of Bill . It really helps us keep him alive in our hearts . Not a day goes by that I dont think of him . His Merlin extra-light hangs on the wall in my living room Your comments let us see a part of Bill's life we weren't always there to enjoy. We all miss him terribly, please everyone ride smart and ride safe.
Thanks again
Greg Corliss

Lee Kallenbach said...

So you are the other Ted. I rode with Ted Chesky and, of course, the mentor of all mentors Bill Corliss. Have thought about Bill many times since I heard of his accident. I stumbled upon this thread while searching for info about "Multigear", that short lived but excellent bike store in Ann Arbor (1982-1985). Bill was the manager during the 1984 season, I had just finished grad school, was working at Multigear for the summer and racing but realized that I was never going to be more than a Cat III rider.

I am still riding the same bike. Of which I am trying to find out more about. Apparently it may be some kind of collectors item. It is the red (they only came in red as far as I know) Specialized Allez (Tim Neenan design) that hung in the window of Multigear during 1983-84. Before that I know the bike made the circuit as part of the Specialized booth at the big bike shows for a year or so, so I am guessing it is vintage 1981 making it one of the original Allezs.

Just the other day I was riding and someone referred to my bike as a "museum piece". It brought back memories of riding in Ann Arbor and many of the people mentioned here. I don't remember having a 'wicked' sprint but will take your word for it. By the way my last name is "Kallenbach".

Ted Diamond said...

Lee! Sorry for getting your name wrong. I loved Multigear. I remember Dennis -- the owner? -- but have completely forgotten his last name.

Lee said...

When you refer to a Cat II rider named "Rick Levine" I think that may be a reference to Rick Weiss. Rick was a Cat II rider, quiet and definitely of the "no pain no gain" school of training. Rick Weiss worked for Bill Corliss's dad's company.

The owner of Multigear was indeed named Denis (one n). Lowe is his last name.

I just have to close with some 80's music as I remember Bill Corliss dancing at the U Club (Ann Arbor) or City Club (Detroit)whenever I hear an Alphaville, Shriekback, or Guadalcanal Diary tune.

Ted Diamond said...

Yeah, Rick Weiss sounds right.

You used to ride a Marinoni, right?

Anyway, the same offer (or threat, take it as you wish ;-) I made to Phil Howrey, I extend to you. if you've ever near Seattle, e-mail me, and we'll have a coffee. or, if you have a bike with you, we'll go for a ride!

Damn. I can barely remember my own name or where I am, but I still remember that your bike had a funky rose-ish/lime-ish paint job. Memory's funny, ain't it?

Greg Corliss said...

Bill Corliss' brother Greg here, you are right it was Rick Weiss one of Bill's close friends , Rick not only worked for my Dad but ultimately bought the company from him, Rick is still alive and well and riding a lot . He still lives in the Ann Arbor area , He sold my Dad's old company a few years ago. Not sure how he fills him time now but when I saw him in 2007 his main form of transportation was a bike. Thought you might be interested in knowing.
Greg Corliss
Santa Cruz California

Ted Diamond said...

Thanks, Greg. Was re-reading the comments, and thinking yet again about Bill.

Phil Howrey said...

I am impressed by our geographic dispersion: CA, CO, WA, etc. Who would have guessed? And still riding bicycles! Wife Sharon and I are planning a tour in southern Utah (Zion and Bryce) in September and a tour based in Solvang CA in October. We completed a ten-day tandem tour of the International Selkirk Loop (WA, ID, & BC) last month. Life is good!

Lee said...

Greg, nice to hear Rick is doing well. Bill, Rick, and I rode together often. Ted, my company has an office in Portland. Is that close enough? I guess my pink bicycle, it was a Marinoni, with green accents stood out. That was the idea. Matt Johnson, another rider in the club had a Marinoni that was green with pink accents. The bikes looked good next to each other. I had a bendy pink panther wrapped around my brake cable as a mascot (remember when brake cables weren't hidden?). Adding to the geographic mix, I now reside in the Dallas, TX area.

David Boundy said...

Lee! This is David Boundy, the part time guy at Multigear. Does anyone know what became of Denis Lowe? If you know, have him send me an email at nycdeb {at} gmail {dotKOm}. I'm living in Boston.

I still have two Marinonis I got during my time at Multigear. I need to get at least one back on the road -- can I still ride such a thing at age 55 after 30 sedentary years as a lawyer and programmer? We'll see!

I knew Bill a little, and share the views here -- great person.

Ted Diamond said...

Hey, David -- I think I remember you -- curly hair, glasses?

Anonymous said...

Hi, Though I'm not in the bike racing community, I, too, knew and liked Bill. Enough, in fact, to look up his name after all these years (I was his landlady in Evanston around 1988) just to see what he was up to these days. I am so sorry to hear about the loss of such a good guy. He was so into life, and such a gentle, fun young man. I remember his sparsely decorated apartment, featuring bikes, of course, and racks of cool sunglasses!

Ted Diamond said...

Thanks for adding your remembrance