2014 was a whirlwind for the cycling world. Fixie culture was fading, making way for a renewed cyclocross boom, while randonneuring attracted different followers. The Radavist replaced Prolly, and Urban Velo solidified as a local legend in its own right. Messenger culture was dwindling, leaving behind only the most passionate and nostalgic. Bikes were evolving— disc brakes were making their debut on cross bikes, 650b tires were quietly regaining traction, and 11-speed drivetrains were on the rise, heralding the end of the front derailleur. It was an electrifying time to be immersed in the bike industry. 

I was grinding away in a Pittsburgh bike shop, Thick Bikes, dabbling on weekends at endurance races like the Iron Cross and Hilly Billy Roubaix. After witnessing the magic of Cross Vegas at Interbike and catching Rapha’s meteoric rise with Jeremy Powers, I was bitten by the cyclocross bug— hard. Those black, pink, and baby blue caps and the Focus Mares team bikes were like a siren song. I even managed to score one of those iconic team caps from a friendly Brit in a tiny tin espresso truck— a keepsake that I still cherish. 

But let’s rewind a bit to another legend in the cycling world: All-City Cycles.  Jeffrey Frane kicked off All-City after struggling to find modern, quality track bike parts. He started with a humble 120mm rear hub, which eventually evolved into the Big Block— All-City's inaugural masterpiece. Jeff didn’t stop there; he aimed for a steel revival, blending affordability with beauty and innovation. With the help of a great team, the iconic Space Horse, Macho Man, and Mr. Pink soon followed, each bike a testament to this vision. 

The Mr. Pink, in particular, is a gem. It’s crafted from Columbus Zona tubing, offering a ride that feels like a melting stick butter gliding over the road. However, the era also saw the push for 30mm bottom bracket shells, which were meant to simplify production and provide a stiffer, lighter shell, but ended up causing more problems than they solved—creaking, wear issues, and all. A stepping stone for the industry, the flaws would continue to be ironed out through an endless series of tweaks and proprietary adjustments, but that’s a story for another day. 

Back at the shop, I had run through various demo Fuji carbon road bikes. They were fast, light, and stiff but something always felt off, and the ride felt dead. I had been commuting on a Big Block for years at this point and racing weekends on a Nature Boy; so, I got rid of my plastic bikes and started eyeing the Mr. Pink. The first-gen sparkle-black frame with its classic stripes was a stunner, but they were rare and soon replaced by new models long before I had dreamt of riding one.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that a close friend— let’s call him Mr. White— had snagged a Mr. Pink in that elusive colorway on eBay. Unfortunately, he did not translate All-City’s sizing correctly and the bike ended up being too small for him. He reached out and asked me if I knew anyone who would want it. Brother, here’s your man.  

I rode over that day and made the deal with Mr. White.  While I only wanted the frame, having a full kit on-deck, the bike had arrived as a flat-bar setup loaded with heavily used workhorse components.  I remember putting in the seatpost and flipping the frame around in my workstand, studying every detail, including one very tiny ding in the top tube. For all of its outstanding ride qualities, Zona tubing is very thin and dents easily.  Nothing to worry about.  Finally, I had the frame.  

But here’s the twist: Mr. White received a message on Ebay a few days after I picked up the frame saying this bike had been reported stolen in San Francisco. Some friends of the bike’s owner saw it listed, claimed that this Mr. Pink was stolen and that the San Francisco police could verify all of this providence through an official report containing the ever so important serial number. 

Mr. White and I froze the whole deal while we dug into the story.  

So close. 

Turns out, the bike was indeed stolen– from an All-City sponsored rider. San Francisco bike theft rings are as notorious as they are in any big city; a dark art. Left alone at a party, it was swiped and pushed. This bike had traveled from San Francisco to Bozeman, Montana before popping up on eBay. The bike’s journey felt like a gritty, cinematic adventure in my mind. 

Reaching out to Jeff at All-City confirmed the bike’s story and began assisting in the untangling of this synchronistic theft-turned-recovery. There was a moment when the situation felt like it rested on a flip of a coin. Jeff hinted at a “road prototype” as a possible consolation prize, but that mystery stayed in the shadows as the verdict came through the wire. 

In the end, the sponsored rider agreed to let the deal go through, their stolen frame having been replaced by All-City months ago. Jeff hooked Mr. White up with a brand new Mr. Pink frame— the proper size— and I kept the storied Mr. Pink, socks pulled up with the tiny metal flecks shimmering through the scratched black paint.

My relationship with All-City only grew deeper. I started a cyclocross team that partnered with them and made plans to do the Trans-Am on a Space Horse. The Mr. Pink found its place in the stable and helped me elevate my ambitions to new levels. I built it up and used it to train, compete, and even almost win my first crit race. It took me to second place in my first road race over the highest point in the State of Pennsylvania and helped me snag the Cat 3 Silver Medal at the 2015 Pennsylvania State Cyclocross Championship. It was an incredible ride— alive and thrilling. Been through hell enough and back to become a symbol of trust. 

Eventually life changed, as it does. I left the bike industry, stopped racing, went on a twenty-something life search for meaning, and my bikes gathered dust. A day came when I felt an overwhelming guilt and needed to change. To relinquish. Love had turned into anger, numbness, and eventually worst of all, nothingness. I missed riding, feeling that excitement of getting outside and doing silly shit on bikes with my friends. Racing burned me out. Shop life burns everyone out eventually, or at the very least extinguishes a special romance. Change, change, change. A bike I swore that I would never get rid of, The Mr. Pink, was traded to a friend for another All-City equally as rare in my mind, the Dropout. It was a tough choice, but sometimes, moving forward means letting go.

When I began writing this story, I expected it to be about a bike. Instead, it became a reflection on something more profound— the connections, memories, and the intangible magic that cycling brings. The Mr. Pink was more than just a bike; it was a companion on countless adventures, a symbol of what it means to be alive on two wheels. A reminder not to fly too close to the sun, it played an important role during a vivid chapter in my life, a cherished companion that gave back twice what I put into it. It will forever remain a treasured memory of an old friend. 

Love is letting go.