Russ Denny

Russell Denny is my ex-apprentice who took over my framebuilding business when I left in 1993.

He still runs the business today in the little desert town of Hemet, in Southern California.

Russ came to work for me in my San Marcos, California frameshop in 1985. He was 18 years old and fresh out of high school; he had been recommended to me by a friend of a friend. Russ is of Native American origin and is proud of his heritage.

What I liked about Russ was that he knew nothing about bikes or framebuilding, but at the same time he had scored well in woodshop at school and had made furniture. In other words he had the makings of a craftsman, but had no pre-conceived ideas about framebuilding or what it entailed.

I had had some bad experiences prior to this with young people who had contacted me, begged me to take them on as an apprentice. They always agreed to start at the bottom, but without exception after a very short time grew tired of filing dropouts and wanted to plunge right in and start building a complete frame.

In the case of Russ Denny, here was a young man who was not only prepared to spend the first few years doing menial tasks like slotting chainstays and seatstays and mitering tubes, he really enjoyed it.

(Left, is a picture from the 1980s of a very young Russ Denny tapping the bottom bracket thread in Fuso frames.)

I had him totally master one task before he moved on to the next. His first attempts at brazing were brazing dropouts into chainstays and adding certain braze-ons to a frame. Five years later Russ had mastered every aspect of the craft of framebuilding.

It was the 1990s and the business was changing rapidly. The demand for road bikes was falling as the Mountain Bike grew in popularity. We tried to switch production but in the first place my heart was not really into building mountain bikes, and there were other established builders of MTBs who had their own following.

I was ready to close up shop, liquidate all the tools and equipment and move on, but I had Russ to think of. He had worked for me for over five years and framebuilding was the only skill he had. I could no longer afford to pay him but he stayed on and managed to get a few orders for his own custom mountain bikes, and he also built frames for Quintana-Roo for the Triathlon market.

This improved his skill as a frame builder and after eight years he could do anything that I could do. In fact in one aspect, namely fillet brazing, he was better than me, because of all the oversize tube MTB frames he had built.

By 1993 it got to the stage where I could no longer keep the business going. My whole business was reliant on a nationwide dealer network, and dealers no longer sold road bikes. Russell seemed to think he could survive on his own, and he did so by giving up his apartment and sleeping in the frameshop. I left the business and took other employment.

Today, Russ Denny has to be one of the most qualified and experienced framebuilders around. As I mentioned when I left in 1993 his skill level was equal to my own, and since then he has added another 14 years experience to this; a total of 22 years.

Russ survived by cutting back on expenses, and starving a little. He also took the business to the next level and started building in new materials as the market demanded. I probably would not have done this because I am too rooted in the past, in tradition. However, Russ was able to move forward and take these ‘old skool’ values in craftsmanship, and design, and apply it to the new.

(Above, a Russ Denny carbon fiber tube bike with aluminum lugs.)

He has gone on to build frames in aluminum, and aluminum and carbon fiber mix, and can still build a frame in steel, both lugged and filet brazed. He offers the best of both worlds. He still incorporates my design philosophies regarding fit and is one of the few people around who can build you a custom CF frame.

Russ has recently put up a new website with contact information and more pictures and details of his frames.

John Howard frame: Dave M or Dave T?

A John Howard frame, built by Dave Tesch (Above.) recently came up for auction on eBay. The seller made no mention of who built it and as a result, I received several emails asking if it was one of mine.

I built the John Howard frame 1983 to 1984; I built just over 300. David Tesch took over in 1984. I’m not sure how long he produced the frame, or how many came out of his shop, but I think less than I built.


When Tesch took over he used the same lugs and seat stay caps. (Engraved with the “H” logo.)

The difference between the two builders is not immediately apparent at first glance, especially if a seller on eBay does not post many detail shots of the frame.

This particular frame has a silver to purple fade paint job, with no chrome plating, This is the first clue, as all the frames I built were a single color with chrome drop-out faces and chrome right chainstay. A completely chromed front fork was offered as an option on my frames. 


Dave Tesch put his signature decal on the left chainstay. (Some of his early JH frames did not have this.)

My frames had the “From the frameshop of dave moulton” decal. Tesch used teardrop shaped chainstay bridge reinforces; I used round ones.



The frames I made were built to my design geometry, the same as the Fuso, and the Recherche that would follow. Dave Tesch had his own philosophy on frame design, and built frames with steeper angles.

Tesch stamped his initials DT before the frame size, and stamped the number across the bottom bracket shell; I stamped mine parallel with the BB faces. (See picture below.)

All the John Howard’s I produced had a yellow down tube decal. Dave Tesch used black, white, or yellow lettering.

I stopped building the John Howard frames because it was no longer a viable proposition to build less than five frames at one setting. Dave Tesch took over building the frames essentially as one off custom frames. He had a smaller shop with less overhead, was at the time anxious to get his business off the ground, and was hungry for work.

However, I think after a short while he found the arrangement was not financially viable. Framebuilding is such a labor-intensive business, and profits are tight. If someone produces a reasonable quantity of frames, and sells directly to bicycle dealers, as I did; then you have a viable business. With John Howard as the middle man, there was less profit to go round for everyone.

When I started producing the John Howard frames, and when Dave Tesch took over, the quality of the frames was equal to the Masi frames. 

However, the product did not have the Masi name, and sold for less. The John Howard frame, in my opinion, was always under priced; one of the reasons it was short lived.

After Dave Tesch stopped producing the frames, John Howard approached the KHS Company, and the bike was produced in Taiwan. KHS is a reputable company and have high quality control standards. The KHS John Howard is a good product.

However, it cannot compare with the hand built frames that Dave Tesch and I built. So if the JH frame does not have the engraved seatstay caps and the other features mentioned above, it is a KHS Taiwan produced frame and its price should reflect this.

My thanks to Bill Battle for the pictures of the Dave Tesch frame; More photos can be seen here and here.

Thanks also to Bryan Graham for the pictures of the Dave Moulton John Howard.

A tale of two early Fuso bikes

The Fuso frame was introduced in 1984; they were numbered in sequence as they were built starting with 001.

The number one Fuso is owned by a former bike store owner in San Luis Obispo, CA. A year ago I heard about number 10, and just this week I received two emails from the owners of numbers 20 and 32.

Number 20

Paul Matrisian wrote a brief but interesting history. The "2 Wheel Transit Authority" decal on the left chainstay tells me the bike was originally sold in Huntington Beach, California. This was a huge bike store, (Housed in a former bowling alley.) that is no longer in business. They sold a lot of Fuso bikes throughout the 1980s.

Somehow the bike made it’s way to Salt Lake City, UT where Paul picked up the story when a friend of his bought the bike for $100 in 1993. Later the Fuso’s owner moved to Nashville, TN where he used it to commute to school.

He later bought a mountain bike and the two bikes were kept locked to a front porch railing at night. One evening in 2002 the mountain bike was stolen but the Fuso was ignored. Soon after this Paul wanted to try his hand at triathlons but didn’t own a bike. His friend having no further use for the Fuso gave Paul the bike.

Paul hooked up with some local bike enthusiasts who were able to help him in choosing and fitting some new components. Some new Shimano Ultega stuff, along with a new stem, pedals, and some new rims. In his email Paul said:

“I have had the opportunity to trade rides with people. All remark what a good ride this bike has. I must admit I like the feel of a steel bike over some of these newer bikes. I am very fortunate to own this bike. The condition of this bike after this many years, attests to the quality of the craftsmanship in its construction. I have included a picture of 'us' entering the transition area in my last triathlon.” (Picture by www.brightroom.com)

Looking at these pictures, I notice the decals are slightly faded, probably due to the bike being left out in the elements. However, the red paint looks a bright as the day it left my shop.

Red paint is usually one of the worst colors for fading; did you ever see and old red car that has not faded to orange? I always used a candy-apple red over a bright orange (almost florescent) base coat on the Fuso frames. What you see is this bright base coat shining through the candy-apple top coat. Time has proved it doesn’t fade; auto makers take note.

I also think it is great that this bike has allowed Paul to participate in a sport at reasonable cost. Thank you Paul for sharing your story.

Number 32. (Pictured above.)

Compared to number 20, this one has led a sheltered existence. Stephen Jaffe emailed me to say he is the original owner. He bought and rode the bike throughout the 1980s, then later quit riding. However, he kept and stored the bike. He is pleased that he did, because he recently started riding again. He has replaced the pedals and saddle, but everything else is original. He said, “The bike is just as enjoyable as it was twenty years ago.”


I think it interesting that two people would contact me in the same week with two totally different stories about two very early production Fuso frames. They were both built within two weeks of each other. I went on to build close to 3,000 of them by the time I retired in 1993.

Footnote: The other number stamped on the bottom bracket shell (57 and 56 respectively.) is the frame size in centemeters measured from the center of the BB to the top of the seat lug. All my frames were measured this way. Subtract 2 cm. for the center to center measurement.

Bill Walton's Bike

Here is a rare and unique frame that was tucked away somewhere in the far reaches of my memory bank, the hard drive of my mind, if you will. It recently came to the forefront when I discovered these old photos.

No, there is nothing wrong with your eyes, and those wheels are standard 27”. (700c) It is just a very large frame. I can’t remember exactly what size it is, but it was built for seven foot basket ball player Bill Walton.

It was the end of 1980 and I had just arrived at Ted Kirkbride’s frameshop in San Marcos, CA to build the Masi frames. Ted had just got this order for a custom built bike for the San Diego Clippers star player.

The frame was a joint effort, I did the main brazing, then handed it over to Ted Kirkbride to finish. The frame was painted by Masi’s painter Jim Allen. Bill Walton did not want any maker’s name on the frame, but instead had a custom “Grateful Dead” decoration painted directly on the head tube.

Bill Walton was, and still is an ardent “Dead Head.” San Diego artist Dan Thoner did the hand painting on the frame.

So what kind of frame is Bill Walton’s? It is a Ted Kirkbride as he took the order, designed the frame, did much of the work and sold the frame. However, as Ted never put a frame out with his own name on it, (As far as I know.) The nameless frame arrangement suited both buyer and seller on this occasion.

I don’t lay claim to the frame, but only write about it here because it is a part of my history, and probably the biggest frame I ever worked on.

Ted Kirkbride owned the frameshop were the Masi frames were produced in the early 1980s. He later bought the company. Most of the frames he built were custom and special order Masi frames.

I wonder if Bill Walton still has this bike, and if so does he still ride it? I would imagine the demand for used bikes to fit a seven-foot bike rider would be pretty small.


Footnote: Dan Thoner who did the fine art work on this frame is the same artist who later did the design work for my Fuso logo; working from rough sketches of my idea.

Tagged Again

I was tagged last December and said at the time, if you keep multiplying by five people, how long before every blogger on the planet has been tagged.

Here we are some seven months later and I am tagged again by Lisa, a local Charleston, Goddess and Bloggess. This time the number of unknown facts about me is increased to seven.

There has to be limit to unknown facts, because each time I write about them they are no longer unknown. Anyway, here goes. Seven previously unpublished, trivial facts from my life.

The tag called for “Seven Random Facts,” but I think they read better in chronological order.

1.) I lived in the South of England, early in 1944, the months leading up to the Normandy Invasion. I was eight years old. American soldiers were everywhere, taking part in training exercises in nearby fields and woodlands.

In the days that followed each exercise, my friends and I would go out and collect empty brass rifle shell casings. Sometimes we would find live rounds; these were blank shells without the bullet. I seem to remember they had a cardboard plug to hold the powder in.

My friends and I collected these live rounds, opened them and poured the powder into a glass jam jar. We used the powder to make homemade fireworks.

One day the group decided for whatever reason to climb a tree and set off a firework in its branches. They left me at the base of the tree holding the glass jar of gunpowder.

A spark from the firework above fell into the open jar and it ignited immediately. I felt the hot flames in my face, and I threw the jar, whereon it exploded as it hit the ground, glass flying everywhere.

The other kids came down the tree and beat me up, for wasting all their gunpowder.
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2.) At age thirteen I got my first brand new bike; a Hercules Roadster with a three-speed hub gear. (Picture left.)

It had dropped handlebars so to me this made it a racing bike. Everything on the bike was steel, even the mudguards. It must have weighed at least 40 lbs.

One weekend my mother took my younger sister and me on a long bus trip to visit relatives. On returning, we discovered my sister had left a sweater behind.

This was not important but I decided to ride my bike over to my Aunt’s house, the following Saturday, to pick up this item of clothing. I did not tell my mother of my plans; I thought I would surprise her.

The round trip was over a 100 miles and all I had to find my way there was a little pocket diary that measured about 3 1/2 inches by 2 1/2 inches. It contained maps of the whole of England on about five or six tiny pages.

I set out very early in the morning and made it back just before sunset that same day. I proudly walked in with my sister’s sweater; my mother just about had a fit when she realized what I had done. Instead of thanks for my effort, I was severely chastised.
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3.) As a teenager all my friends smoked, this was the 1950s and it was the norm to smoke. I never did, because I was serious about my cycling and racing.

Many racing cyclists of that era did smoke, and it was kind of strange when I look back and remember riders collapsing from exhaustion at the side of the road after the finishing sprint in a road race, and the first thing they did was light up a cigarette.
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4.) In the early 1960s I worked as a milkman. I would arrive at the dairy at 6:00 a.m. and load up my battery powered electric milk truck. It had a top speed of about 15 mph.

After driving to the start of my round, I would park the truck and carry the bottles of milk by hand to nearby houses, before moving the truck down the road and repeating the process.

The great thing about this job, I was paid for an eight-hour day, but was encouraged to finish earlier. I would memorize the amount of milk for every house so I didn’t need to look at my order book, and I ran the entire round which covered about ten miles.

I would be finished each day by 10:00 a.m. This gave me the rest of the day to ride my bike, and build the occasional bike frame. The only day I worked later was Friday when I had to collect the money and take orders for the following week.

I bought rubber sole “Doc Martin” work boots that were guaranteed for six months, and would wear them out in three, take them back and get a free pair.
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5.) When I had my framebuilding business in Worcester, England in the 1970s, a young boy from the neighborhood, aged about eight or nine years old would often stop by on his way home from school, and watch me build frames.

One day he brought his older brother, aged about fourteen, to look at my frames. After studying some finished frames, I had hanging in the shop, the older boy remarked, “They are very good; as good as the ones you can buy at the bike store.”
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6.) While working in the Masi shop in California, in the early 1980s I was doing a frame repair. I was replacing the right chainstay on a Masi frame. I had removed the damaged stay and was preparing the frame to receive the new one.

I stabbed my arm on the sharp point on the bottom bracket shell, and hit a main artery. Blood spurted out in a two-foot jet, pulsating to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I stuck my thumb over the wound and applied pressure, while I was driven to the hospital. On arrival, I was placed in a wheelchair and taken to the emergency room.

I sat there, waited, and waited my thumb still pressed tightly against my arm, afraid to let go, or I would surely bleed to death.

When I finally did see a doctor, I took my thumb away, there was no blood, and I could barely see a puncture wound. The doctor stuck a band-aid on it and charged me fifty bucks. A lot of money back then.
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7.) In 1983 I opened my own frameshop in San Marcos, California. It was all work back then trying to get the business off the ground.

The bane of my life was people soliciting and selling all manner of stuff I didn’t need. It got so bad that I would lock the door to the front office.

One day a guy walked in selling Kermit the Frog glove puppets. He had a puppet on each hand, with little red tongues that shot in and out, and immediately when into his sales pitch.

I shouted, “Who the fuck left the front door unlocked.” I walked towards the guy to show him the way out and lock the door behind him.

He must have thought I was about to attack him and he turned to run. The problem was the door had closed behind him, and he couldn’t turn the door knob because he had a Kermit the Frog puppet on each hand.

As I got closer, and closer, he kept glancing back over his shoulder with a look of sheer terror like an animal in the slaughter house.

Just as I reached him, he got the door open and was through the front office and out the front door in a flash. I locked the door behind him and went back to work.

I wonder about this guy. Did he realize he was not really cut out to be a Kermit the Frog puppet salesman, and get a real job?

Maybe after this incident he at least left one hand free to open the door for a quick get away.
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There you have it. I am changing the rules set by the Great Bogging Poobah, whoever he might be. I am dropping it back down to five unknown facts, and passing this on to five other bloggers.

If you don’t want to participate, just pretend you didn’t read this. That’s what I am going to do if this comes back around before the end of 2008.

I tag:

Fritz
Philip
Tim
Ed
Kimbofo