The short version of the story goes thusly;
Mid 90s or so, my man gets a job as a bicycle messenger and around the same time, I ended up employed on the road as well. I'd see Schooly from time to time at the bar, in the street, or in some marble lobby or another, always with this nickel colored heap beneath him or locked nearby.

I grew to covet that bicycle, and as the years passed, C43 and I became friends until one day, he told me that he and his better half were moving to Boise, and to help fund the relocation, he needed to sell his bike. I snatched it up and never looked back. Nine or so years have passed since I procured the whip in question, which now rests comfortably beneath a coat of glossy 'statutory grape' powdercoat. As they say however, all good things must come to an end, and I soon will be the recipient of something new.
Something black.
Something pissed.
And something whose name I dare not mention for fear of the ground swallowing me whole.
Like I said- things come to an end, and though my love affair with this bike is far from over, it's time to retire the beast.
I contacted Schoolie to see if he would like to buy it back because as I see it, either we own it exclusively, or nobody does.

Lastly, while on the topic of dirtbags from Boise, I shouldn't forget to mention this;

The information for which can be found here.