Several weeks ago, while hunting down another item on eBay, I ran into an old lugged steel Trek 950 frame. It was just the right size at 19 inches, and was going cheap with several days left to go. I threw a couple bucks down on it and forgot about it until I got an email telling me I’d triumphed over my weak, cowardly opponents for only $41. As a bonus, it also came with a set of LX cranks, a RaceFace bottom bracket and an XT front derailleur. I’d been thinking about increasing the family’s cargo carrying capacity to two Xtracycles, and this seemed like a fine platform to make that happen.

It showed up needing more than just a little love. I haven’t figured out all the numbers stamped into the bottom bracket shell, but the serial number falls into the 1992 range. There’s also another set of numbers, that reads “930 20 B1 (something something)”. I’m assuming that means that I’m actually working on a 20 inch 1992 Trek 930. Additionally, the paint job was mostly what you’d expect from a couple cans of Krylon…

…except for that black flame job, edged in Sharpie! Bet ya didn’t expect that! It just looks fast layin’ on the carpet there, doesn’t it?

The fact remained that it’s a sweet, solid lugged steel frame with great geometry for what I had in mind, with a few dings here and there but mostly in good shape. So I got out the wetsand paper, and figured that bringing it back to bare metal, painting it proper, and getting that frame correct would be a spiritual journey worth taking. I’d pour my love and sweat and some choice swear words into it, sanding and soaking, until it gleamed naked and strong. And I did for about three days, starting with some really noxious chemical stripping agent and then taking the rest down to the steel.

The first day’s sanding, a roughly 5 hour session, saw the top tube and down tube emerge quickly. The head tube and lugs took more time and effort, but came out looking lovely. Unfortunately, the painted head tube badge (painted! dude! 5 minutes to mask it off! C’mon!) didn’t survive the sanding. But seeing the brazing at the joints come out from behind the paint residue was a joyful experience.

The next morning, I woke up with the outside edge of my right thumb (which had been my sanding block for getting into the nooks and crannies and lug edges) raw, bruised, and beaten. External pressure from the frame pushing up, combined with internal pressure from my thumbnail’s edge pushing down, left it sore and swollen. Given the injury, it seemed obvious to me that the thing to do was to keep sanding. I got most of the front triangle on that run, focused on nailing the bottom bracket, and did pretty well.

But the cable stops, grouped in threes at the front and back of the top tube, mocked me all the while. “Keep sanding those parts you can reach, but you will never, never see the bare metal of our insides,” they taunted as I worked my way around the bottom bracket shell and bottle cage bosses. Every time I cleared paint away from the edge of a lug, I’d feel my sense of well-being swell slightly as the brazing revealed itself. Then I’d glance at the cable stops and lose that good feeling.

I could not for the life of me solve that riddle, given the effort it took to sand the parts that were easily reachable. So I asked for some advice from someone I consider a knowledgeable source, aware that I could end up on the business end of a blistering, wolverine-like flurry of teeth and claws, but desperate for the answer. He kindly suggested that an escalation in chemical warfare might help, and that wire brushes (especially drill mounted) might help.

But more importantly, he gave me a stronger suggestion to abandon my efforts and take it to a powder coating shop to let them blast and paint it. “Let someone else do it?” I thought indignantly “This is my project! How could I justify the time, the love, the effort I’ve already invested? How can I think of dishonoring my aching, damaged thumb by giving up?” (My thumb at this point had nearly grown it’s own mouth so it could handle the screaming closer to the source.)

Like a magic bean, however, the planted suggestion grew stronger as I slept. Not only would bead blasting be faster, reaching every nook and cranny of the frame, it would get the surface rust too. I let go of the excitement I had been cultivating from the thought of learning how to paint well. The reality is that I don’t have a booth, or a gun, and if I did I’d still need to fail horribly on several projects to achieve any kind of competency with those of tools. More than likely, faced with that challenge, I’d revert to rattle-cans from AutoZonePartsBoys and get results only marginally better than I’d started with.

And even if, by some miracle, I’d built a booth and picked up a decent sprayer and learned how to shoot Imron and candy and do airbrush flames with an uncanny, supernatural skill right from the get go, the fact is that powder coating is simply better for the environment. A strong component of my love of bikes is their light environmental impact. Using rattle-cans is flat-out damaging to the environment, and shooting urethane wet is several degrees more so.

I woke up and knew instantly where this project was headed, and I felt some shame in surrendering so easily. For about 15 seconds, until my thumb made light contact with the bathroom faucet. In that illuminating instant, I realized that I’d just made a good solid judgment without being unduly emotionally influenced by sunk costs, and that seeing the light involved a pretty minimal waste of time and only light, temporary physical damage. That right there is reason to celebrate in my world!

(And thanks muchly, Mr. Thill, for the excellent advice. I have always depended on the kindness of Internet strangers.)

So last night, Rebbie and I played around with some graphics, spent too much time looking at the wrong colors, and hotly contested their merits and faults. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that aesthetics are subjective, there’s a way things should be done and for some reason you’re always wrong. It’s probably your upbringing or perhaps a genetic flaw, but it’s amazing how you always pick the wrong color. You should see a doctor about that, so that we can all stop laughing about it. God I can’t believe you picked that color, you knob.

What we should’ve done right off, perhaps if we’d been less tired and had been thinking more clearly, was explored our connection to the rich heritage of British racing cars. Which is to say, we don’t have any, but the fucking green works! Check it out, situated for proofing on top of the awesome Creme Fat Franks we picked out for this project.

I look at those tires and can almost taste a vanilla milkshake. And in case you were wondering, yes, they do bring all the boys to the yard, and, that’s right, they’re better than yaws.

So I dropped off the frame, Free Radical, and V-Racks with Chris the Powder Coater in Hyattsville this morning, hung out for an hour chatting and getting the full tour of his shop. He’s going to do the whole shebang in a lovely Forest Green for less than $200, should be done in about a week.

What’s better than that? Nothing, that’s what.