The Trek Rat Bike

There were twin sisters. Mark was in love with one and I was married to the other, so I suppose my becoming his friend was initially as part of a package deal.

In any other scenario, Mark and I would probably be unlikely to become friends. He was popular and gregarious and outgoing and loved being around people. I, on the other hand am quite shy and am somewhat of a home body. Our paths would have been unlikely to cross if not for the twin sisters.

If Mark were among a group of folks circled about having fun, his charisma, impish toothy grin and infectious laugh would gravitationally draw him in towards the center. He was one of those rare individuals that could easily move from one circle into another and be perfectly comfortable and at ease, as well as be accepted and embraced.

He had no single circle or class that defined him, indeed, those around him more often than not became defined as being “Mark’s buddy”. A lifelong passion of his was pheasant hunting in North Dakota, and his hunting buddies ranged from plowboys to the circuit court judge. It was the outdoors and ski hills that drew him to the Northwoods as a young man and he shared a kinship with ski bums, adventurers, outdoors people, and timber tramps from every walk of life.

Had that been as far as his drive went, he would simply join the ranks of the many other charismatic outliers that the Northwoods seems to breed and attract. But Mark had ambitions and became a businessman, and a very successful businessman at that. The business was built upon the outdoors, as that is what he knew and loved. His inane understanding of human nature and genuine affability made him a natural salesman and an engaging style made the process of buying fun for his customers. Sales were his artform. And his business expanded his presence to folks in every corner of the community.

He built the business to sustain himself and his family so obviously being successful was of the utmost importance. But after hours he was quick to buy a drink and catch up with customers not seen in a while, not to draw them back into the store, but because he genuinely was interested in what was going on in their lives.  

He was also acutely aware that a successful business yielded a stable source of fun coupons that allowed him to live a life that most never could. Mark was always traveling or dreaming of the next adventure, and often that was a romantic getaway to a place of wonder with his chosen twin. One solo trip was to the Sturgis Rally, which was a staple event for him.  That same week, I and my chosen twin went to Hot August Nights, accompanied by his chosen twin. He became terribly heartsick by midweek and drove his motorcycle for 16 hours straight in triple digit heat from Sturgis, South Dakota through Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada to join up with his chosen twin in Reno.    

A good example of Mark’s understanding of the human calculus was when I began pondering getting back into cycling. He knew I would never spend a lot of money on a shiny new bike, would like to get a good deal but would not dicker, and researched everything to the nth degree on the then new Internet. “I’ve got a 12-year-old Trek 800 mountain bike trade in”, he said. “It books for $55 but you can have it for $50”.

The book price was spot on and getting a 10% discount with no dickering was just too sweet to pass up. After handing over a half of a hondo, I was pedaling around on a Trek just like Lance!

One of the cables eventually broke. “No charge”, his employee said. When I told Mark about this later, he said that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was in love with the other twin sister but that it was simply good customer service. “But you know bikes have come a long way”, he added. “When you are ready to try something a little nicer, come on in and we will take care of you”.

I rode the heck out of that old bike and the shiny emerald-green paint began to take on a ratty patina, the teeth on the cassette could use dentures, and all the cables must have been secretly taking Viagra. The lustrous Trek slowly morphed into the Trek Rat Bike.

Then Mark suddenly and tragically left us.

Life, however, is for the living and time marches on. But every ride on the Trek Rat Bike brings back old memories and is a pleasant reminder of some very happy times. That bike has attained keepsake status. It has become the last tangible link to a departed friend, a talisman.  But it is now nearly 30 years old and is simply worn out. I tried for the longest time but could not stand the thought of replacing it, which probably made Mark the Salesman roll over in his grave.

After much soul searching and a realistic assessment of the Trek Rat Bike, the decision was made to get a new bike. But with the pandemic related supply chain issues there were none to be had at that time at Mark’s store. “If you can find one anywhere buy it”, his son, now the proprietor, said. A no-name bike was eventually located and purchased from a big-box retailer. The Trek Rat Bike was relegated to number two status.

The no-name bike is nice, but it is no Trek Rat Bike. Then right out of the box there was a defect. After countless emails then hours spent on an 800 number before finally speaking to live human being, it became apparent that the big box store viewed me as a nefarious international cabal intent on fleecing them for a left side pedal. Maybe this would have had worked out better if someone from the big-box warranty department had a love interest in the other twin sister.

The no-name bike will inevitably wear out quickly and will be relegated to the trash heap. The supply chain issues are beginning to be ironed out and the local bike shop will be able to take care of me. But no matter how many bikes are in the stable, they will share that stable with the Trek Rat Bike. I do not need that token reminder of a friendship, but it is sure nice having it.

Godspeed, Mark.