30 years ago: Fixed Gear Day Care

 

 

 

The Hellyer Park Velodrome was a dream come true for my mom. Who would have thought a concrete circle with a chain link fence around it would keep her 13 year old son busy for hours at a time?

A year after realizing I could ride my bike way too far from home for my juvenile navigational skills, and a few too many collect calls at dusk from well outside of town, my mom drove me just a few miles away to the only velodrome in Northern California to meet an old man named Ed Steffani.

Ed was retired and the grounds keeper of the track. According to on-line sources today, he was an architect and the designer of the track as well. I'm not sure I knew that way back then. Regardless, 30 years ago, what Ed talked about almost endlessly was the glory days of competing in the 6-Day races on tracks all around the country, especially at Madison Square Garden in New York City.

I would circle around the track on my Univega Gran Tourismo touring bike that was far too big for me, watching him move sprinklers around the in-field grass. I'd practice diving down the banking into the sprinters lane and pretend to accelerate my slow, heavy bike. He'd call me down to take a break and tell me a story then send me back up onto the track to continue to ride around. Throughout the summer I brought friends for competition and Ed would make up races for us to do. Like any good, old-timer, he'd usually include an "unknown distance race" that took the better part of an hour. Most of my friends thought the track was boring and the old man too kookie. But a few of us stuck it out for the summer and for even longer.

I confiscated my older brothers' 10-speed, again too big for me, stripped it down and made it into a single fixed gear bike until I had enough paper-route money to buy an old track bike that Ed dug up for me. I still have it today. It has pencil thin seat and chain stays and ornate lugs. There's even a brass oil cap on the bottom bracket, something I've seen on few other bikes. It was navy blue and faded to a really nice patina. I went ahead and rattle canned it black a few years later. Someday I'll strip it down and have it repainted.

By the middle of that 1984 summer, the all afternoon sessions weren't enough. I was able to race the Monday night training race series. With the women. Not a lot of 13-year olds were showing up to race it turned out and the ladies didn't give much thought to the developing male ego they were crushing. Somewhere I have video a family friend took of me leading one lap and getting lapped 3 laps later. By girls. The summer passed and by August, fully emasculated, I moved up to racing with the category 4 beginner men. My results were the same but I chalked up getting lapped by men as a personal victory.

Regardless of the beatings I'd taken during the Monday evening races, I continued to show up during the week to ride endless laps while Ed drug the hose around the infield, swept the Eucalyptus leaves from turns 3 and 4 or painted the bleachers.  And he always had a story to tell me when I stopped for a drink of water.