| Re: Naming your Bike
Zoot Katz wrote:
> On 24 Dec 2006 12:12:48 -0800, "The Historian" <Spamscone@yahoo.com>
> responded:
>
> >> [2] My bikes are named after American conservationists: Henry is named
> >> for Thoreau, and commuter bike Waldo for Emerson. I had intended to name
> >> my newest bike Leopold, after Aldo. (Aldo and Waldo being just a little
> >> too close.) But this bike is so--zonal--with its silver paint and black
> >> accessories, that I ended up naming him Ansel.
> >
> >Do people often name their bikes? A friend of mine is restoring a 1978
> >Volkswagon Vanagon, which he has named "Brooke." And I call my car "The
> >Neilmobile", which is close to being a name, although it's more
> >properly a title. But I've never heard of naming your bike.
>
> My motorcycles and cars had names too.
> What they were more often called was something entirely different.
>
> My bikes are all named. It's my shorthand instead of a description.
>
> These bikes were built up from new/used parts:
> joe-bike = 1985 Norco MTB city bike
> Ellie = Ellis Briggs
> Lopop = Maruishi MTB polo bike
> Squishy = Diamond Back MTB loaner/back-up polo/donor bike
> Scot = Scott MTB/Xtracycle (this rig hasn't earned a name.)
>
> Foundlings revamped and ridden regularly:
> Redneck = Knect red fixie
> Yorick = 20" Norco kids bike/art-bike chopper/quick tripper
> Binny = Norco cruiser frame aero-chopper
>
> Whit = Witcomb (all new semi-custom)
>
> There are two bikes without names; a Raleigh I've never considered
> "mine" and a Miyata I've not yet made "mine".
>
> Most of our chopper collective has named their bikes.
> "Count Chopula" was renamed "Calegula" at my expense.
>
> It doesn't matter what you call a bike. . . . it's not going to come
> anyway.
>
> You have to ride it.
Agreed. I decided to name my bike Excelsior, because I am fond of the
Longfellow poem by that name. The word is Latin for "ever upward". I
figure it will help with hills. I hope Excelsior and I avoid the fate
they suffer in the poem, however.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said:
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
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