Hurry up Harry (Quinn) — how the beautiful electric blue steel bike I got for Christmas 1979 unleashed the racer in me

It’s Christmas, 1979. Pink Floyd were topping the charts with Another Brick in the Wall, and that was when Harry Quinn and his steel-tubed blues band came a calling for me.

This was something of a life milestone for schoolboy Steve, as ever since I got my hands on the dropped bars and cheap plastic ribbon tape of a Raleigh Europa a few Christmas morns earlier, I’d been well and truly hooked on those curves, and was totally obsessed with cycling and the freedom it gave me. How or why? I had no idea back then, and neither did anybody else, but they were beginning to realise that I meant business when it came to riding bikes, and wanted to take racing them more seriously. It was all that I wanted to do in life, in one way or another.

(Supplied by Steve Thomas)

I’ve told a few tales of Christmas’s past and my festive bikes on this website, and the journeys they’ve taken me on: from outgrowing my Chopper, to outgrowing the Europa, and then the Christmas before getting taken a tad more seriously with my upgraded (and upsized) 24-inch Falcon Professional.

For most of us, the pile of scraggily gran-wrapped parcels beneath the tree gets smaller by the year, and for me that tide of change meant that this was to be my last true “teenhood” Christmas. I’d pleaded, begged, chipped in, and worked off what I’d scored this year – a stunning dark electric blue Harry Quinn road frame.

The previous year’s Falcon was designed to see me through a few “growing” years, and perhaps even leave the cycling quest in a council pothole of broken dreams and cracked rims, and yet it had only fuelled my faith and belief all the more that these steel-tubed and hoop driven beasts were to be my life calling. The issue was, I never did sprout up like a mythical giant, and the 24-inch Falcon was still way too big for me, and was a real nutcracker of a ride. I had to downsize… and while we were at it, why not upgrade too?

The local bike shop owner who was also my mentor had raced for Falcon for years, and was then riding for Harry Quinn, which was acquired by Falcon in around 1977/8 under the reins of Frank Clements, a local lad, former pro, and younger brother to the illustrious Falcon owner Ernie.

The older fast guys in the newly-formed local club all had these electric blue Harry Quinn bikes, and many more local cyclists also rode this trusted handmade (originally) Liverpudlian brand, so it was kind of destiny that I should have one too. Not to mention that the lineage behind this tale and local connections also helped make it far more affordable to young prospects than it would be for most.

I believe it was a 531DB frame, although it didn’t have any badging, so maybe it was actually Tange or similar, which Falcon were using back then. Years later, when I did sell it on, the buyer checked out the frame number, and I think it was indeed Reynolds tubing.

Bodging a dream

(Steve Thomas)

The old Falcon was stripped bare, and the frame traded in. Through a mix of those Far Eastern parts and some bits and pieces from the rickety second-hand draw in the back of the workshop, plus a few new parts, thus the beast was born. This was mostly funded through hours of out-of-school time working it off in the bike shop, and so the “FrankinQuinn” mix and match came together to give me a 23-inch racing bike to remember, and one that would evolve a bit like Trigger's broom over the next few years.

(Steve Thomas)

From woollen shorts, braced and hanging on in local schoolboy park crits to winning my first real races, this was the bike that I went through the last of my school years on, and into those gruesome “Thatcherised” youth experience scheme years, and then into what they call adulthood. During that drainpipe jeans and Harrington jacket era, beyond the bike the sole sanctuary was served up in Woolworths record booths on a Saturday afternoon, thanks to The Jam and The Specials mostly. I guess you could say we went through that rite of transformation passage together. Then, we parted ways as the trends of time took a hold.

By that, I mean life got a little rebellious all round, and the frame was resprayed and badged with Redline BMX stickers, before me finally selling it through the back page classifieds of Cycling Weekly. Why? In hindsight I wish I hadn’t, but the trends (and finances) of the era were chasing these new (to us) Italian branded and chromed frames emerging from the back van doors of travelling salesmen.

All hail the Mighty Quinn

(Blightyinfurs on Wikimedia commons, licenced under CC BY-SA 3.0)

The Quinn family bike making business began way back in 1890, as Coronet Cycles. Harry was the son of the owner - hence when he took over the business there was a renaming - and meanwhile his two brothers left the business and set up nearby as Quinn Bros’ Cycling. Many a well-known frame builder learnt their craft from Harry.

Over the years many top racers in the UK, and way beyond, rode Harry Quinn bikes; Milk Races’ and World titles were won on these bikes – including Colin Sturges’ 1989  World Professional Pursuit title. Sadly Harry lost sight in one eye back in 1977, which was about when he sold the business to Falcon. Years later he re-acquired the brand, and the company was closed down in the 90’s.

The legend of Harry lives on

(Supplied by Steve Thomas)

All these years later, and although life and my old Harry Quinn have moved on a whole lot, I do still have a Harry Quinn track frame, which was the same age and colour as my original road bike. But again, years later it was repainted and re-branded. I converted it to a fixed wheel road going bike a few years back, although my creaking limbs have rarely braved it since then, something that I really must get around to doing.

We will always ride together in electric blue dreams, as they are still alive and kicking for me. To all of you, have a very Harry Christmas this year!