How one phone call ruined gears for me

 

C: "Hello"
J: "Is this Cycle Therapy?"
C: "Yeah..."
J: "You're listed as a Surly dealer. I want to make my bike a singlespeed!"
Huh? Singlespeed, you say?

In 1997, I started a mobile bicycle repair business called Cycle Therapy. In the era of dial-up modems, Connecticut wasn't quite ready for that concept, so it remained a part-time venture. But because I had opened an account with QBP (Quality Bicycle Products), they kept my phone number listed as an official Surly dealer.

James' enthusiasm for the idea was infectious. I immediately ordered myself a Surly Singulator and slapped it onto "My Ol' Pal Stumpy." It was the Sunday before Labor Day weekend 2006.

Kaboom!

It was a total revelation. I felt incredibly connected to the ride and completely committed to the experience. On a singlespeed, you don't change gears; you change positions and use your whole body. Was I more tired? No. Was I slower? No—arguably, I was faster.

I still owned my geared Salsa Ala Carte hardtail, but I constantly found myself choosing the rigid singlespeed instead.

I noticed I was clearing more technical features and steep climbs on the singlespeed. How could this be? Sure, there was always the occasional ultra-steep or loose climb where I would stall out. But hey, I was on a singlespeed, and I was clearing far more than I ever expected.

The level of commitment was simply higher. I was determined to keep pedaling until I either couldn't turn the crankarm over or lost traction entirely. This wasn't conscious; it just was. The long list of excuses for why I failed a climb just faded away. Didn't make the climb? Nope. It wasn't a wrong gear choice, too much tire pressure, incorrect weight distribution, or the wrong color socks. I just didn't make it. But I tried until the absolute end.

One day, while riding with friends, we approached a steep, short ledge feature. It required throwing yourself at the wall and letting momentum carry you over the top. As I watched my friends attempt it, I could see the exact moment hope died in their eyes. They weren't committed to the finish; they were writing their excuse.

At this point, I had written a bunch of words about racing, glorifying my medium-sized fish in a small pond palmarès, but what's the point of that? I was better at and enjoyed racing more on the singlespeed. Other than failed experiments with gears in 2016 and 2019, I've been almost exclusively singlespeed or fixed. When I did try gears, there would be an initial, short-lived novelty before malaise set in and I'd become bored. At the shop, I brought in Devinci and ordered a Troy ST in my size. I RideWrap'd it and thought I'd ride it around and use it as a demo. Even a bike that cool, which was super fun on the downhills, was not captivating enough to dull singlespeed's allure.

Over the years, I've gone from bikes converted to singlespeed—I wish I could get into my old Photobucket account to show you some examples—to bikes that could be run either way, and now dedicated singlespeeds. When the designer of my Seven questioned not having any provision for future gears, I simply said, "That's my problem." It's a good problem to have.

This post is somewhat pointless and disjointed, but the price is right. Here's a bunch of pictures of most of the singlespeeds I've had over the past 20 years.