My First Love

My old bike is the best bike, this is just my melancholic opinion.

By no means is my old 2007 Specialized Hardrock Sport Disc (affectionately named the Hardc*ck by my friends) the best bike in the world. But without this bike i would genuinely be lost and probably nowhere near as competent on a bike if it hadn't come into my life.

I remember getting it at the age of 12 and it being a typical “he’ll grow into it” sales pitch from the guy at the shop, I was just able to get my toes on the floor of this 19” frame. At the time I had been arguing back and forth with my parents about wanting a Kona jump bike that was around the same price, but reluctantly I gave in and got the XC orientated bike instead. To this day I am thankful that I listened to my parents advice.

When I think back now to how much I was able to do on that bike I know 100% that I would shit myself trying it now. From sending it over huge (for 12yr old me) sketchy dirt jumps, taking it down steep homemade ‘DH’ tracks and hitting my first Scottish mountain bike centres, this bike just worked for me!
Now don’t get me wrong, I broke A LOT of stuff on that bike. Teenage me abused the living hell out of it and myself. I was the epitome of the ride-it-till-it-breaks mentality, but at the same time this bike never failed me once.


Now by today's standards, riding black trail centre routes in the UK on a £300 hardtail with a 71 (ish) degree head tube angle, 100mm fork, 700mm (ish) bars and 26in wheels would seem like a suicide mission. Back then I had no concept of what any of that stuff meant.
I had a bike, I liked riding the bike, and so it was just point and shoot, and hope for the best.
For 90% of the time I could do this and come out unharmed, and probably a better rider from the experience. My best memories and pretty much all my 'firsts' on a mountain bike where done on that clunky, heavy, squeaky, twitchy, bombproof silver frame.


I think part of why I loved my old bike so much was because I wasn’t concerned about any of the points that the marketing gang now ram down our throats with every new bike. It was a simple bike that 'did what it says on the tin' i.e. get me up the hills so I could slam it into trees on the way back down! Having owned and raced bikes designed for DH and Enduro I now know what a fast bike feels like, and don’t get me wrong I have enjoyed every second I have had on those bikes, but the adrenaline just doesn’t kick in as much when you know it all works and rides smoothly. I miss the feeling of not knowing if I’m gonna be able to brake enough for the next corner, of will I be able to keep the bike on the line that doesn’t mean being ejected into the ditch or into a tree or the sudden “Oh no....” that erupts from your mouth when you realise you didn’t put your saddle down before the big scary decent.

Biking was also my escape from the everyday world, as it has been ever since. Through the toughest times in my life that silly silver bag of spanners has helped me through it all, heartache, loss, depression, anger, it never failed to be there to take me away from it all and have time to process what was going on. At one point it was stolen from me and to say that it broke my heart was an understatement and i felt very lost without it. Luckily drunks who steal bikes can only cycle as far as their hotel before they ditch it and its handed over to the police (thank you Lochaber Police).


The sad reality now is that after being used as a XC and commuting bike during my time at university it had become very broken and worn and I didn’t have the money to put new bits on the remains of the bike. The frame now hangs in my parents garage as a fond reminder of where it all started for me.

As I write this melancholic, self-centred piece I find myself once again trying to figure out a way to get it up and running again because there isn’t a week that goes by where I don’t miss just having it there to ride around on and scare myself shit-less.

I guess everyone has their first, the one they always remember for whatever reason, be it good or bad.

One day the Hardrock will rise again, mark my words.




P.S. Apologies about the shonky photo quality