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Dave Moulton

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Not one of mine

A Fuso bike listed on eBay item number 320029382855 with my name to it was not built by me. It was built by my apprentice Russ Denny after I retired in 1993.

That is not to say it is not an excellent frame; when Russ took over my business he had worked for me eight years and could do anything that I could. However the bike should be listed as a Russ Denny built Fuso not Dave Moulton.

I have contacted the seller twice but have received no response.

Update: Friday 22nd.
After four requests from me and a contact with eBay; the seller added a note saying the frame was built by Russ Denny and not me.


Which of these three books will be worth serious money in the future?

One is a first edition copy of my novel Prodigal Child; the other two are little notebooks where I hand wrote and recorded serial numbers of bicycle frames that I built.

The book on the left was the one I used to record frames built in Worcester, England from 1974 to early 1979 when I came to the United States. It contains very little information; just the customer’s name and a number. All I was doing was recording numbers to keep them in sequence and to prevent duplications.

The last thing I expected was that I would be corresponding with owners of these same frames some thirty years later. Who can contemplate thirty years into the future? Some of the pages in the book have water stains and the ink has run a reminder that the old WWII vintage corrugated steel building where I ran my business leaked every time it rained.

The second book (On the right.) has a little more detail in that it records a serial number, the frame size, and the bike dealer it was sold through. Sometimes there is mention of paint color and chrome plating, and occasionally a customer’s name.

This book records custom frames built in California from 1982 to 1986. I built a few frames in 1981 while still working for Masi but these were not recorded. Also not recorded were frames built after 1986 and up to 1993 when I retired.

In 1986 I moved my business from San Marcos, to Temecula, CA and I have a feeling my record book got misplaced. I found it about two years ago and it is a miracle that either book survived over the years and the many moves I have made. I built only three custom frames in 1986 and so few after that date that I felt it was no big deal if I didn’t record the numbers. Again at the time I was trying to scratch a living, not build future collector items.

On Wednesday this week a 30 year old frame that I built in 1976 came up on eBay.

It had been repainted, not very well I might add and there was no name on it. The only way to prove it was the genuine article was because the person selling had bought it from the original owner whose name was recorded in my little book along with the serial number.

The item was viewed over 1,100 times and sold for $357; had it been an unknown frame it would have been considered an “Old Beater” and might have gone for $25 to $50. But because I was in the business for some 36 years, built a few good frames along the way, some people perceive that the frames are worth collecting and restoring.

Actually these old English built frames from the 1970s were not as aesthetically pleasing as the ones built ten years later in California, but what they lack in aesthetics they make up for in rarity. There were less than ten of these shipped to the US and Canada through the 1970s. I hope the new owner will refinish the frame in the style of that period and not add braze-ons to it.

Supply and demand is what makes anything collectable increase in value. The supply of my frames will never increase because I don’t make them any more; in fact it will decrease as more people buy them and hold on to them. It is already rare to see a custom built ‘dave moulton’ come up on eBay. There are plenty of Fuso production frames out there as I built almost 3,000 and incidentally the ride quality of a Fuso is exactly the same as any other frame I built.

As for the demand more and more people discover my frames every day; more people know of my work now because of the Internet than when was actually building frames. It took me years to become accepted as a legitimate framebuilder; in my current occupation as a writer and songwriter it will probably take me just as long. But think what an accepted literary work or a hit song would do for the price of my bicycle frames?

Which brings me back to the value of these three books; they are all connected. I have no intention of selling my two little frame number record books but in time they will be the only way to prove the genuine article. As the value of my frames increases it will become important to authenticate each one.

As for my novel; everyone who owns one of my bikes should buy a signed first edition while they are still available. It’s a not too expensive and interesting conversation piece to go with the bike. Is it worth reading? Of course; does anyone think I would reach the top of my profession in one field to embarrass myself and others by writing something mediocre?

For the Lowcountry readers of my blog; I will be signing books at the Sam Rittenberg Barnes & Nobels this Saturday, September 16th, and at the Mount Pleasant Barnes & Nobles the following Saturday the 23rd. I would love to see you there.


Please Share the Road: I Only Need a Tiny Bit

I was riding my bike today and was on a quiet section of road that happens to be a divided highway with a single lane on each side.

It is 15 feet wide and as I only need about a 3 foot strip to ride my bike that leaves 12 feet for a car to get by. In fact I have had 18 wheelers pass me on this same section and leave me plenty of room.

Today someone got behind me and just laid on the horn. I pulled in as close to the curb as I could but still the driver would not come by just kept laying on the horn. Only when the divided section ended did the car come along side.

It was a lady driver and through her open window she yelled, “You need to be on the sidewalk.” I called back, “Sidewalks are for walking.” “Bullshit.” was the last I heard as she sped off.

Excuse me, but that is why they are called Sidewalks. So that was what all the car horn honking was about, she really expected me to stop and move over to the sidewalk.

What happened to ‘Share the road?’ I was not impeding this lady; I was in no way endangering her. You never hear of someone in a car being killed by a cyclist; unless one hits you on their way through your windshield.

I am just out there getting some exercise; I’m not making noise or burning fossil fuel. And if I should unintentionally delay someone’s journey for a few seconds; at the end of the day in the whole grand scheme of things how important is it?.

I must point out that this kind of behavior is an exception, most road users I encounter while riding my bike in the Lowcountry are polite and considerate.


What we say, as opposed to what we want to say

I got an email from someone the other day; it said, “Can I build a carbon fiber frame?”

I wanted to reply, “Sure, go ahead, knock yourself out.”

But I didn’t; instead I directed him to this website.

It reminded me of an incident some thirty years ago in England. A man walked into my bicycle framebuilding business, accompanied by an extremely beautiful woman; he asked, “Can I get a frame for my wife?”

I wanted to say, “That sounds like a very fair exchange, I could probably throw in a pair of wheels also.”

But I didn’t; instead I took his order and built a frame for his lovely wife.


The Cooper River Bridge: Continued

Labor Day, Monday, September 4th. Had to ride over the Cooper River Bridge again. Not just because it is there, but because some of the best cycling routes in the area are on the other side of the bridge.

The ride was not without incident; between North Charleston and the bridge it started to rain. I encountered some railroad tracks running at 45 degrees to the road. I swung out wide then turned to cross the tracks at a right angle; at the last second I realized I was heading for a large pothole along side the track.

I swerved to avoid it which put me at an angle to the tracks again. The wet steel tracks slicker than a couple of snakes in a bucket of snot, and down I went. Luckily my hip and my elbow broke my fall and the bike was undamaged. I always find you never bleed too long and wounds heal quickly, but scars on paint are for ever.

By the time I got to the bridge it had stopped raining and it was fairly quiet. I guess the threatening weather had kept most cyclists and runners indoors. I took the gradual climb easily this time and didn’t feel over geared like the week before.

Once over the bridge I took Coleman Blvd. to Rifle Range Road and over to the IOP Connector. For those who don’t know this area IOP stands for ‘Isle of Palms.’ To me IOP Connector always sounds like something that belongs on a computer; as in “My printer’s not working, I have to get to Radio Shack and buy a new IOP Connector.”

The connector road is nice; wide with a shoulder to ride on. The passing traffic created a back-draft that gave me a boost and I found myself flying along at a good pace, and then another little steep but short climb over a bridge crossing over to the Island. Once on the Isle of Palms I turned right to head back towards home, and the skies opened up again.

There was no shelter and I got pretty wet, but eventually I pulled under a canopy outside a motel; I waited for the rain to abate which it eventually did. I rode about a hundred yards further and the road was bone dry and the sun was shining. I crossed over to Sullivan’s Island and people fishing from the bridge were oblivious to the rain a couple of hundred yards back down the road.

Another 5 or 6 miles and I was back to the Cooper River Bridge again. By now I had quite a few miles in my legs and this time I suffered on the climb. I wanted to quit so bad but I was so near the top I just couldn’t; so just gritted my teeth and struggled on. Of course once at the top I was glad I didn’t quit.

The ride the rest of the way should have been uneventful except I took a wrong turn somewhere in North Charleston and went about six miles out of my way. Unfamiliar territory told me I was on the wrong road but streets were deserted and there was no one to ask.

I passed a little biker bar and a guy on a Harley was about to leave; I stopped and asked him the way to Rivers Avenue. He told me to turn around, ride back to a light and make a right. I rode back at least three miles, turned at the light and then knew exactly where I was; I was in the old Naval Shipyard area. From there it was back over the Ashley River and an easy shot home.