Coolness is about originality. I think cyclists want to be original. (Even in cycling friendly parts of the U.S., riding a bicycle seems pretty novel.) Getting a custom frame or a frame from a relatively obscure (but quality) frame builder is just another way to be original. Getting a frame from a company that advertises in Bicycling doesn’t scream originality–and therefore isn’t cool (therefore those bikes have no “soul”). Frames that are popular with those that have been cycling for a long time and probably have a few bikes (e.g. a Cross Check) are also cool, so that frame is considered to have “soul”.

The purchase of a Trek or Specialized makes a certain statement, and it’s not the statement most readers of BKW want to make. It’s unoriginal, and therefore not cool–so no “soul”. But as Radio Freddy recently noted, an inexpensive, stock frame from a large corporate manufacturer can ride like a dream.

I would like to see some sort of double-blind Pepsi Challenge with these supposedly soulful bikes pitted against supposedly soulless bikes.

I’m also curious when a corporation gets too big to produce bikes with soul. What’s the threshold? Independent Fabrication and Seven have been growing quite a bit in the past few years. How many frames per year can a company make and still have “soul”? Or do they simply have a certain fixed amount of soul per company, and the more frames they make, the more thinly the “soul” is applied each frame?

A large company can have great craftsmen making wonderful frames, they just aren’t as cool (and therefore are claimed to have no “soul”).

(By the way, I have two modern Merlins–one stock road frame and one custom cyclo-cross–and they are both awesome. Full disclosure: I’m on a team sponsored by Merlin, but we certainly don’t get the frames for free.)

There’s also an engineering type of soul – an elegance that attaches to some simple, direct, effective equipment. It doesn’t grab you by the shirt and kiss you, you have to chase its excellence a little bit before you see it and come to love it. I’d give you some of the Cervelos as an example of that – there’s nothing romantically aesthetic about them, but their function-dictated design has an honesty to it (and an excellence) that makes it very lovable. The high end Pinarellos and Orbeas – they are beautiful, but I don’t find them soulful, in spite of all the fancy supposedly functional bits. Not everybody gets this engineering soul thing.

I have had two bikes I find directly soulful, an old Fuji Dynamic that I converted into a fixie, and a Surly Cross Check that usually rolls with a flip-flop hub. I actually miss riding those bikes, and feel a pang about having sold the Fuji and I strongly want to leave work right now just to ride the Surly for an hour before getting home. Just a little hit, please?

I have a bike with that functional soul, a Giant TCR. When I first bought it I looked on it as an expensive, high functioning tool. I can’t see falling in love with one at first glance (though the ’07 TCR Advanced, in ‘stealth’ livery is a little different). Having put 7 or 8,000 miles on it, I’ve come to really love its strength, the always-sharp handling, and the way I get off it and never have any aches and pains other than sore legs. It just fits and works pretty much perfectly, and even though it’s getting a little nicked up and worn around the edges, I find it more beautiful all the time. I understand if you don’t see it that way, though.

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