Lost Mirado

In 1985, I picked out this Trek 470 from a rack full of bicycles at the legendary Denver Spoke, a shop now long gone but once located at 1715 E. Evans Ave. The bike was a little more than my mother had wanted to spend (it was $400) but was equipped with quality Shimano 600 parts. Plus the size (59cm) fit me perfectly.  I was all of fifteen years old, and this modest Trek represented unbridled freedom. I rode it to school and to work and to the local parks. There were epic rides, too, like the summer two friends and I rode from Vail to Copper Mountain, ascending eighteen hundred feet in our summer riding clothes, only to discover it was snowing at the top of the pass. When we got into Copper Mountain, our hands were so cold we hopped a fence in order to warm our hands in a ski resort hot tub.  I learned to wrench on this bike, swapping out its 52 tooth chainring for a more manageable 48. I tried out different handlebars and different levers. Eventually I stripped it down to a b...