My name is Otto and I am Jacquie's cool ride.
I was born on January 8, 1983, in Fairfax, California.
Charlie Cunningham breathed life into my big,
hollow aluminum bones with his TIG-welding torch,
intent on building a bike that would last forever.
He'd already delivered my uncles to Crested Butte Colorado,
where the brothers Cook (Steve and Don) raced into the record books .
I was destined to follow their Snakebelly tracks.
Just before I was built, a bronzed, braided racer bounced up
to the machine shop door and into Mr. Cunningham's life.
"Whoah!" says she. "I thought bicycles grew on trees!."
I was just a pile of tubing,
a gleam in the welding helmet lens,
but I gotta tell the story...
A month after they met, I got my wheels trued,
chain lubed, and saddle height set.
I was handed over to Ms. Phelan for the shakedown ride.
"OK," I say to myself.
"She can come, but if she whines even once, hup! Over the bars."
For two hours, I urged her to go ahead and make my day. But no.
We scooted up and down a few hills.
We snuck around a lake, hid from a ranger.
In her panic, she forgot how to change gears
and had to jump off and push.But no complaining.
When we got back I heard her say, "I think I'm in love".
That was over 20 years ago.
She meant me, but I'm not the only guy.
Still, hour for hour, I get more action than Mr. C. ever will.
We raced for 9 straight seasons.
I won all her NORBA championships
(too bad the podium hadn't been invented yet).
The rapport we have is for life; only my components get replaced.
I became her legs, and she became my brain
Her contemporaries saw us finesse a tricky descent
flowing through the rocks sans sparks or skid-dust.
It's no trick: she would speed-read the terrain,
I'd remind her about momentum and promise not to break a cable.
Spec-wise, we went against tradition whose code was "Steel is real".
In fact, my very aluminum existence was considered a bit of an affront
to most other builders and all of the other companies.
Jacquie took grief about the road bars
--they didn't look "mountain bike-y".
Pretty narrow minded for a bunch of rads, huh?
'OK, so we had a sneaky advantage on the climbs.
She'd stand up and yank on my brake hoods and disappear up the hill.
Years later, bar-ends were invented for everyone else.
For perfect control, nothing equaled my powerful Roller-Cam brakes,
the rear mounted on my short, thick chainstays,
shielded by a little mudguard. The front mounted to a superlight Type II fork.
In traffic, we're sometimes obliged to dodge a flung open door,
and, well, thanks to me, she can stop in time.
What about my specs? geometry? My mystery gussets?
The thin walled heat treated frameset?
In short, all the cool shit?
What about my specs? geometry? My mystery gussets?
The thin walled heat treated frameset?
In short, all the cool shit?
For years, I was five pounds lighter than my competition,
but Jacquie got the credit.
Hey, Jacquie's smooth style owes a lot to how I position her weight.
My geometry, fork offset, and chainstay length were unique then,
but have become The Norm.
My bottom bracket sits lower than the hubs,
the 70.5 degree head angle and 71.5 degree seat angle puts Jacquie just behind the bottom bracket,
poised and ready to pounce.
The gussets strengthen my frame and deflect stress.
Hocus-pocus heat treating assures a light, mellow ride
-different from mass produced bikes
whose fat walled untreated tubes give a jarring "aluminum sucks" ride.1
So there you have it.I am lucky I'm still around to tell the tale,
I guess because she married me along with Charlie.