I've spent a fair bit of time waxing rhapsodic about my two Crust Cantilever Lightning Bolts. Best bikes (of their kind) in the world. No offense to the great Constructeurs, past and present, but though their bikes are undoubtedly more beautiful, prestigious and coveted, I can't believe they perform substantially better than the Lightning Bolt, the best production version of the classic Rando bike.
https://crustbikes.com/blogs/builds/black-bolt-in-bethesda
https://crustbikes.com/blogs/builds/peggy
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| Bikes are supposed to be fun, aren't they? |
But buying, assembling and owning a "special" bike like this means more than the average consumer acquisition. I've owned Treks, Specialized, Fuji and Giant bikes. In the process of owning these bikes, I have had the good fortune to form relationships with folks at local bike shops, which I would generally recommend over direct-to-consumer purchasing, though LBS folks run the gamut from helpful to scornful, and in some cases, seem increasingly to be shills for the company store (I'm talking to you, Trek). Still, I've found these companies to make good products and generally back them up through what sometimes seems like their increasingly short lifespans (I'm talking to you, carbon fiber).
I once snapped the derailer hanger on a USA-made Trek Madone Project One, and was amazed when Trek covered the entire repair under warranty, along with shipping to and from Wisconsin. No questions. No hedging. Kudos to Trek. A great consumer experience, facilitated by my local Trek dealer.
Despite these positive experiences, I have never felt a sentimental, personal attachment to the designers and builders responsible for making the bikes. John Burke? Mike Sinyard? Undoubtedly interesting guys with rich backstories and impressive credentials, but even owning several of their products, I've never gone to any trouble to learn a thing about them or their companies. Likewise Fuji and Giant. Crust is different.
Maybe I'm just biased toward small, quirky, boutique companies that make niche products (I am). Perhaps I fancy myself an iconoclast who resists popular trends (I do), or I'm too easily influenced by the cool kids who go against the grain (I am). Or maybe I have fallen completely under the mesmeric sway of the vélo-Svengali Jan Heine, the über retrogrouch Grant Petersen or Sheldon Brown, patron saint of fun, practical cycling. All true. Nevertheless, I maintain they are all correct in their assertion that the mainstream bicycle industry places too much emphasis on the "sport" cyclist, at the expense of all the rest of us who want bicycles that are practical, fun, durable, inexpensive and easy to maintain. In short, against the enshitification of bicycles. Examples:
- Does your bike use proprietary parts or standards supported by only one or few companies? Shitty
- Does your bike need batteries to operate? Shitty
- Does your bike need hydraulic fluid to stop? Shitty
- Do you need a mobile app to tune your bicycle? Shitty
- Is your crank limited to a single gear? Shitty
- Does your bottom bracket make incurable, ungodly creaking sounds? Shitty
There are a few small companies still making non-shitty bicycles, and though Rivendell is probably the preeminent example, Crust is among them. Unlike Rivendell, most Crust bikes are designed for disc breaks and 1 1/8 inch head tubes, and all the appurtenances that go along with them. And of course you can choose to put electric shifters on any multi-geared bike if you want. And carbon fiber forks are starting to work their way into the lineup. But they also still make all-steel, rim brake bikes designed to use technology that has stood the test of time and will likely survive much longer than proprietary press-fit bottom brackets or battery-powered shifters. And they'll be cheaper, more comfortable and look better doing it. All hail the analog metal bicycle! And thanks to the companies that still make quality versions of them. How can you not form an emotional attachment to such non-conformist characters?
As you know, I recently assembled my second Lightning Bolt (Peggy, short for Pegasus - above). I had planned to get a set of Pacenti Brevet wheels for the bike, as that's what I have on my other Lightning Bolt, but while personally picking up the frameset at Crust International Headquarters, I spontaneously decided to pick up one of Crust's dynamo 650b wheelsets. What I didn't recognize was that the wheelset I got was for 135mm rear spacing, while the Lightning Bolt has 130mm spacing. Apparently Garrett didn't notice either. Even Travis Evans from Just Riding Along Bike Shop, who did some of the initial assembly on the bike (headset, bottom bracket, etc.) didn't notice; or at least didn't say anything. At first I thought, well, whatthehell, I'll just leave the wheel in the frame and eventually it'll cold-set to the new size. What could it hurt? That was just me being lazy. But it was also me being stupid - why modify a brand new bike because I bought the wrong wheels?
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| Crust 135mm rear wheel |
I had no intention of actually cold-setting the frame, and the wheel was wedged into the rear triangle so tightly that removing it to fix a flat was damn near impossible and took a lot of paint when I tried. So I resolved to reach out to Crust and see if there was any way I could resolve the situation without having to buy an entirely new wheelset. They only sell assembled wheels as complete sets and I only needed the rear wheel. So I reached out to Garrett who immediately responded, "Woah, dang, really!? Could you send me a photo of the hub???" We went back and forth a couple of times, but ultimately, he sent me a new wheel and a return label for the old wheel. Just like that. Another satisfied customer.
So I have two very satisfying experiences. One with the megabike corporation and one with the little boutique company operating out of a cinder block hovel in South Richmond. Why do I feel affection for Crust, but not particularly for Trek? Partly it's to do with how I came to discover Crust and my subsequent identification with the personalities at the company and my growing affinity for the "alt" bike online community with which it is often associated.
Of course, it all starts with Grant Petersen. He's been floating around in my consciousness for so long, I can't possibly recall when or how he got there. But he was there long before I could afford a Rivendell, and has remained a guiding light of sanity as I made my way through what I presume to have been a necessary infatuation with bicycle racing and racing bikes (call it my 30's and 40's). The next catalyst for my transition away from racy bicycling was Eben Weiss, the venerable BikeSnobNYC, whose writing I almost certainly encountered first in his column in Bicycling magazine, a publication that used to mysteriously show up in your mailbox after joining the League of American Bicyclists (LAB) or making certain bicycle related purchases. Back in the late oughts and teens, I was also reading Lovely Bicycle which was covering the low trail/650b trend. I'm pretty sure that lead to a subscription to Bicycle Quarterly and Jan Heine, godfather of the trend.
I was riding a Trek Madone Project One at the time, but starting to dream about these curious, classic steel cyclotouring bikes with fatter tires and the ability to carry more stuff - it was a return to my original dream of traveling by bike - should've bought that Trek 520 when I had the chance! I was skeptical about having a bike custom built (and wouldn't have known what I wanted anyway) and there really weren't any inexpensive "production" options available. I fiddled around with an '86 Fuji Allegra I bought on Craigslist, but really only managed to assemble a bike that looked like what I wanted. It's geometry was still a typical Bike Boom sport bike's and I wasn't enough of a mechanic back then to do a proper conversion to 650b.
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| 1986 Fuji Allegro |
Then came the BQ review of the Cycles Toussaint Vélo Routier in 2014. It wasn't exactly a glowing review, but more of a, "want to try low trail/650b without spending a lot of money?" type review. I hemmed and hawed long enough to miss out on the first version, but snapped up a DIY build when v2 came out. It helped that I had just destroyed my Madone driving into a parking garage with it on the roof rack. So that was my first foray into this exciting new world of unconventional, Randonneuse bikes. I liked it, but the Vélo Routier still didn't rise to what I was beginning to suspect were the unrealistic expectations Heine created in describing the classic mid-century Rene Herse bikes and subsequent custom frames he was advocating. It was good, but not great. Then came his glowing review of the funky looking Crust Lightning Bolt. I mean it was an uncharacteristically positive review. And of course, if you were looking for a second opinion online, you were definitely going to run into the piece by the Radavist. This is where shit got weird. How could it not, encountering Ronnie Romance for the first time in his speedo.
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| I bought a bike from this guy? Ronnie Romance puts the Alt in Alt Cycling. |
Meanwhile, I had been watching YouTube videos from Path Less Pedaled. Party Pace? Sounds right to me. I'm not likely to be found riding a bike wearing Crocs, but the reminder that riding bikes is supposed to be fun was exactly where I was in the arc of my cycling life, and what has come to be known as Alt Cycling was, and is, really appealing to me. A couple of versions of the Lightning Bolt came and went and then came a model in glittery galaxy black. It took me about 10 minutes to pre-order one. The rest, as they say, is history.
