Today I sent ol’ Number Four, my exasperating mountain bike, off to the scrap yard to be turned into plowshares or musical instruments or whatever. I was hoping it would get there today but my friend who was taking it there wanted the tires for himself, so it will be even more stripped when it finally hits the scrap heap.
I only paid $40 for it, and it was already having problems with the bottom bracket (where the pedals are attached to the frame), so I didn’t have high expectations to start with. It got me around the secret city from June through September, and then two days before the fixed-wing came in the mail from Brooklyn, the bottom bracket finally loosened for good and I couldn’t pedal it any further. It was the fourth bike I’ve owned for myself, after the black Jamis Durango ATB, the ten-speed I bought to commute with (and that is now on its fourth frame and third drive train, but the handlebar grips are the same), and the Basso Ti-frame racing bike that’s sitting in storage. Four is supposed to be an unlucky number, right?
After the problem with the bottom bracket put it out to pasture, I donated the brakes to Cindy and the pedals to Wilner, which is why it is missing those things in the picture.
Thanks for everything, number four! Best of luck in your new incarnation!