It occurred to me the other day, as I was preparing my Marinoni Ciclo for the new year, that I’ve never introduced you to my handlebar mascot, Super Dave.
Dave has been riding with me for almost twenty years.
In the early nineties, I’d often cycle down Vancouver Island to meet a group riding out of Duncan, British Columbia, continuing south with them along the rural roads of the Cowichan Valley.
On one of those rides, we were pedalling briskly along the scenic west side of Shawnigan Lake, when I noticed something flash by my wheel. I continued on a bit, but curiosity got the better of me. I called out to my companions that I was going back to check on something.
There was Dave, supine on the tarmac, luckily unscathed and smiling calmly. I saved him from certain oblivion by logging truck or speeding pickup … and so began our relationship.
You may recall Dave’s alter-ego, Super Dave Osborne. I can attest that my Dave is as dauntless as the famous stuntman.
Dave has surely wondered over the years if becoming the leading edge of my bicycle travels was a better fate than being crushed into West Shawnigan Lake Road.
Zap-strapped to various handlebar stems, he’s been plastered in Yukon bugs, buried in snow, pelted by the relentless rains of rural France, pummelled by Pacific storms, yet he’s never complained.
If only as much could be claimed of his master, for Dave’s greatest trials must be to put up with my ravings.
“So, whose great fucking idea was this ride, Dave? Dave? I said whose fucking idea was this?”
Other captives would have withered under such unwarranted recriminations.
But not Dave.
Dave is the most agreeable cycling companion I’ve ever encountered.
But something uncanny, almost disturbing, is beginning to occur: Dave and I are starting to resemble one another.
I’m not sure when this strange shift started, and in which direction—that is, am I turning into Dave, or is my talisman undergoing a toy transmogrification, a kind of plastic surgery in my name?
It’s all a bit unnerving, like some kind of gothic novel or David Byrne lyric (you know the one—“Seen and Not Seen”—about the guy who takes years to will his face into some ideal structure, only to wonder if he’s chosen unwisely).
But there we have it. I particularly noticed the similarity as I was taking Dave’s portrait for this post. There he is, grinning back at me through the viewfinder.
“Hey, peckerhead! Let’s go find a headwind to destroy!”
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I just went through my photos of the 1994 trip and lo and behold there was “Dave” sitting on the handlebars, he sure gets around.
I too had a mascot “Rubber Duck” who travelled with me for many years, sadly I have no idea where he is today, he may even be on a shelf in my brothers house. “Rubber Duck” was one of very few trophies I won in my bike racing career, I won him at fun fare by beating a bunch of kids in a stationery bike race.
Conor, does my memory serve that Rubber Duck sat in the circle of your spare tyre, on the front of your bike?
Is that what we can just make out in the shot of you on the Touring page?
I’m just scanning some other shots of you to share. Great that we met up again, here on VeloWeb!
If you look carefully you can spot the duck. Next time I visit my brothers home, usually once a week, I will take a look around for “Rubber duck” to see if he is still there.
Cool! I’ll post these new pics on your FB, and I’m improving the Touring page shot.
Thanks for the memories!!
Bike mascots are very very important, never leave home without one! I have referred to these parasitic nomads as Mojos. My current ones are 2 inch rubber cockroach on bike 1, a star wars figure {the little weasel guy that sat on Jabba the Hut’s lap} B2, Elmo #3. Now I have shared many experiences and miles with these little guys, through thick and thin but I have not seen any resemblance shift yet. Your mascot resemblance problem could be traced to vintage {age} or just a rando induced hallucination flash back. Don’t worry, be happy! Have a super day!
Lee: It is imposible to underestimate the importance of bicycle idols. I’m glad you are not neglecting to employ their numinous powers. Cycling, after all, is a branch of voodoo.
Accordingly, the phenomenon I report above cannot be explained away as a simple hallucination of the kind familiar to randonneurs.
No, it is a genuine zombie manifestation.
I have (or had) the exact same little guy! It was one of my brothers’ when they were younger and eventually ended up with all of their GI Joes that were passed on to me :p
I was also a Super Dave nut when I was younger. I still find myself watching him if/when he is on TV now. One of my regrets was not going to our mall when he came to town once.
Ryan: Though others have tried to make something (common) out of the “Tonka” logo on Dave’s cap, I must protest that this is simply a device employed by my companion to avoid detection by those from whom he escaped, before I saved him, lo those many years ago.
So, I believe you are mistaken in thinking you might have had the “exact same little guy.”
Of course, it’s obvious why my mascot would honour such a great and noble daredevil as Super Dave Osborne, by assuming his name.
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