The man, the legend. The guy who started it all back in the Year of Our Lord Beer, 2000, with a couple of pages worth of idiotic ranting hardcoded on some random porn site that would host anything you uploaded, a book called HTML for Dummies (which was completely appropriate), a bad attitude (which hasn’t much changed), and a Dell desktop running Win95 with 64 mgs of ram and a six gig hard drive. Those were the days. Then he went to law school. Go figure.
Flagstaff, Arizona, USA
You know what we Irishmen call St. Patrick’s Day? Amateur night.
…top o’ the marnin’ to yas…
…& sheldon, me boyo…slainte, wherever ya are…
Sheldon Brown, web 1.0 the grave.
Damn, he was something.
St. Patrick’s Day and it’s spring break for quite a few. Lord protect the sophomoric student population on this day of reveling, and God bless the employees of Cheba-Hut as they get ‘slammed’ tomorrow. “Oh Jesus Criminy” my Grandmother would say.
I still can’t believe he’s gone. He’s the one that got me on to fixed gear, you know.
Around my house we called today The Feast of Our Lady of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. We dedicated the day to me own sweet ma who, like many Irishwoman of her generation, was both a victim and perpetrator of the quaint Irish custom. After her sixth, my next older sister who spent her first two years in surgery to try to make her look human, I think she got the point. Lucky me, the seventh of eleven, I came upon my Irish Curse the All-American way, from me dear old da, who came back from one of our endless wars with a raging case of Post Traumatic Stress shit. I got the scars to prove it. I fuckin love St Paddy’s Day y’all, Erin go braugh.
The last time I saw Sheldon was at an Irish bar after a BOB ride. Steak and ale.
John Powers (that’s the plural, for those of you paying attention) over here, just like most nights. Cheers, lads.
Even though we never met, he always answered all my emails about obscure, old, or low end bike parts I was trying to make work. He did it with encouragement and respect. Irreplaceable knowledge base(like my dad on farm equipment) and classy enough to ride those Rivendell speedblend tires, my friends call mine ‘fruit stripes’.
Excellent post BJ.
It is really cool to see his legacy lives on waaaaay beyond Boston. Like many of us, he was completely committed to The Rolling Life and an amazing and totally accessible advocate and velo-sage. We miss you Sheldon, ya bad-ass!
pour one for sheldon tonight!
…sheldon b. looks like one big smiling fucking leprechaun in that foto…
…even in passing, i think he was delighted that all of his documented bike info was left for us like our pot o’ gold @ the end of the rainbow…
I too sent the “Guru-issimo” an e-mail question years back and received a prompt and helpful answer. What else would one expect, right?
R.I.P. Mr. B. I’m sure where ever he is, the road is always smooth and the wind is always at his back.
Aye, we miss ye, Sheldon.
You know what we Irishmen call St. Patrick’s Day? Amateur night.
…top o’ the marnin’ to yas…
…& sheldon, me boyo…slainte, wherever ya are…
Sheldon Brown, web 1.0 the grave.
Damn, he was something.
St. Patrick’s Day and it’s spring break for quite a few. Lord protect the sophomoric student population on this day of reveling, and God bless the employees of Cheba-Hut as they get ‘slammed’ tomorrow. “Oh Jesus Criminy” my Grandmother would say.
I still can’t believe he’s gone. He’s the one that got me on to fixed gear, you know.
Around my house we called today The Feast of Our Lady of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. We dedicated the day to me own sweet ma who, like many Irishwoman of her generation, was both a victim and perpetrator of the quaint Irish custom. After her sixth, my next older sister who spent her first two years in surgery to try to make her look human, I think she got the point. Lucky me, the seventh of eleven, I came upon my Irish Curse the All-American way, from me dear old da, who came back from one of our endless wars with a raging case of Post Traumatic Stress shit. I got the scars to prove it. I fuckin love St Paddy’s Day y’all, Erin go braugh.
The last time I saw Sheldon was at an Irish bar after a BOB ride. Steak and ale.
John Powers (that’s the plural, for those of you paying attention) over here, just like most nights. Cheers, lads.
Even though we never met, he always answered all my emails about obscure, old, or low end bike parts I was trying to make work. He did it with encouragement and respect. Irreplaceable knowledge base(like my dad on farm equipment) and classy enough to ride those Rivendell speedblend tires, my friends call mine ‘fruit stripes’.
Excellent post BJ.
It is really cool to see his legacy lives on waaaaay beyond Boston. Like many of us, he was completely committed to The Rolling Life and an amazing and totally accessible advocate and velo-sage. We miss you Sheldon, ya bad-ass!
pour one for sheldon tonight!
…sheldon b. looks like one big smiling fucking leprechaun in that foto…
…even in passing, i think he was delighted that all of his documented bike info was left for us like our pot o’ gold @ the end of the rainbow…
I too sent the “Guru-issimo” an e-mail question years back and received a prompt and helpful answer. What else would one expect, right?
R.I.P. Mr. B. I’m sure where ever he is, the road is always smooth and the wind is always at his back.
Sheldon Brown has a posse. and a t-shirt: http://www.bikerumor.com/2010/10/06/bikeage-t-shirts-fashion-with-a-regular-pricetag/
yes. he was.