When I was a junior USCF racer in Walnut, CA in 1986, this frame hung up in the shop for years, growing dusty. I asked how much she cost, but back then I was only making $4.35/hour bagging groceries at Albertsons (which was a miserable job, but excellent preparation for a life of drudgery in the killbot factory.) I can't remember the name of the shop, but I spent the night in early November 1987 before I left for boot-camp working in that shop on my Schwinn Peloton. This memory is vivid to me because some smart alec said, "Man, if I were leaving for the Army tomorrow morning, I wouldn't be in here; I'd be in Hollywood trying to catch social diseases!" Perhaps our perversions are the only things that make us unique:
I was so overjoyed when I came home on leave for Christmas the following year (1988) and saw her still up in the corner near the ceiling. Really. I distinctly remember getting light-headed and reaching for a wall or a counter to steady myself. I paid $1100 for the frame, even though my Army pay as a PFC was about $680 per month.
I raced my Masi at many USCF races around Austin, TX when I was stationed at Fort Hood and placed in enough races to eventually become a Cat-3. Killeen, TX is a miserable place and I couldn't even afford a car, but still considered myself a rich man with my Masi next to my bunk in the foot-smelling barracks.
Then I was reassigned to Limburg, Holland's southernmost geographical nutsack hanging boldly between Germany and Belgium. My Masi and I got dropped in many races there, and we had many memorable adventures, including a trip down to Luxemburg in which it rained constantly and I was soaked by muddy pig-manure from the farm roads. (Haha, that would have been pretty miserable even if she had fenders, which she didn't.) While riding in Valkenburg, I snapped the right drop-out, so I had to mail my Masi to Cyclart. They did a pretty good job and also added a second set of bottle-cage bosses.
Sharp eyes may detect the faint dent in my Masi's seat tube, and the fact that the drop-outs are no longer horizontal. This is because we ate a guard rail while riding with the UC-Santa Barbara cycling team. As a GI-Bill Baby, I wasn't making enough money to buy a new bike, so I paid this arrogant guy named Bob to replace my destroyed rear triangle. I was too busy studying to keep up with the news, but while waiting in the shop, I heard about this guy named Pantani that everyone was so crazy about.
Cyclart did such a great job the first time, that I took my Masi to them again 15 years later. When I took her in, they told me that she was actually made back in 1984 (which is when I was a highschool freshman) right here in Carlsbad where I live now, which is only a bizarre coincidence, I promise. When I turned 36, I finally caved in and bought one of those fancy new carbon-alloy Felts, but by that time I'd been riding this Gran Criterium for almost exactly half of my life.
I'm glad I can finally afford to adorn her in finer jewelry than when I was younger. We've ridden tens of thousands of miles together, some were pure happiness and others unfortunately introduced me to the profoundly memorable taste of pig manure. No mere possession, she; more the light of my life and fire of my loins. Perhaps it's unhealthy to get so much joy from a vehicle, (or even a 'handsome rolling device') but sickness is a mere epithet by those who don't understand.