Everything Trevor does seems to be dripping in story and lore as he comes from the homeland of mountain biking, Marin. He is the kind of person you just find stumbling out of the woods, shoeless, with the biggest grin on his face. In fact, recently he finally gained the attention of the owner of Black Mountain Cycles, after years of visiting the shop, because Ted King ran into Trevor out on the trails and regaled the shop owner about his encounter with the barefoot forest nymph.
This bike started out as Santa Cruz Chameleon stock build, which after an understandable amount of time touring, shredding, and all-around abuse, developed a crack. Undeterred, Trevor took that bike to SSWC18 in Bend, Oregon where he befriended Tory Sox of Cascadia Cycles. When he was about to leave town, the framebuilder handed him the frame, a “Douglas Fir” prototype that was slated for demolition to check stress. He said “bikes are for riding” and damn does this one get ridden. Someone once rode this frame and declared it rode like a “Cloud Tank” which it had scrawled in sharpie on the top tube until it wore away, Cloud Tank Douglas Fir… something like that.
Now, the wheelset and brakes, which have never been bled, are all that remains from the original stock build. An OG XX1 derailleur was a trade for a few hours of yard work. An Oddity Cycles Razorbar provides ample room for shreddy hand positions. The bars are wrapped with cloth tape and capped off with a Microshift 11speed bar end shifter and the opposite side bar end has been on every bike he has owned since he was a teenage dirt jump grom.
He collaborated with a friend to make the frame bag, of which he says, “the bike world needs more lace.” Inside he hides all kinds of treasures, good juju, and musical instruments including a photo of Jacquie Phelan and Charlie Cunningham, who are good friends of his. A vintage Thudbuster and Brooks keep his soft bits feeling cozy. His pedals have the pins removed from one side so he can ride barefoot whenever he pleases but keeps the pins on the other side for shreddy moments.
A day out with Trevor usually includes more than a few diversions and mishaps. He drug me up into the hills of Santa Cruz until we found the appropriate trails after many failed attempts. He hit gaps on his rigid rig that gave me pause on a full-suspension bike, his dirt jumping roots were definitely showing. The grin never left his face the whole day – I doubt I have ever met anyone who enjoys riding a bike more than this human. When we got to the bottom of the hill, his stem had been crooked all day, his pedal was on the verge of failing, his brake tab bolt was hand tight, and his rear tire basically bare of the tread. When I say that he embodies “the bike really doesn’t matter” harder than anyone else, I truly mean it.
If you see him playing the banjo or any of his accouterment of brass instruments anywhere out in the great wide world, say hi, maybe even play bikes with him, I bet you’ll have a great time and an even better story.