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An Ode to the Pacer

Remember a few months back when I said the dump would be back with some regularity? Well, my overly-ambitious dumb ass kept that promise for a whole two weeks before it totally fell off my radar. For that, I apologize. In addition to me having the attention span of a goddamn goldfish, we also had some back-end issues with the dump and it was inaccessible for a while. So, I guess it wasn’t all my fault. Though, let’s face it, it was probably mostly my fault.

Everything seems to be working on the back end again so I’m going to try and be better about posting dumps from now on. It won’t be weekly, or even biweekly. Let’s say that dumps will be posted with a semi-regular occassionalness. Cool?

Anyway, to get things started (again), I thought this week would be a good time to pay homage to everyone’s favorite steel road bike: the Pacer. If you haven’t heard, the Pacer has officially been discontinued. That being said, we still have a few complete bikes available in select sizes so if you’d like to own a piece of Surly history, get on down to your local bicycle procurement establishment and order one up at a nice price. When they’re gone, they’re gone for good.

And with that, behold the Pacer in all its fleeting glory.


 Fort Worth, TX


 Colli di San Fermo, Italy




 Jyväskylä, Finland

 Bekasi, Indonesia



 Somewhere in Bulgaria en route to finishing TCR no 5

 Osaka, Japan

As you can see, the Pacer has been on one hell of a world tour throughout its life. We sure will miss it but we know that its memory lives on in all those that were fortunate enough to throw a leg over one.


The cool part about posting two blogs in a week is that I still get to share my favorite song off the new Yob record with you. So here that is. It's a beautiful piece of music.

Wasn't that nice? Those little puddles of liquid pooling beneath your eyes are called emotions and it's ok to have those sometimes.

Sweet Beef's avatar

About Sweet Beef

As Surly’s devilishly handsome Copywriter, Joel got to write his own bio. He also names things, writes the words in the Intelligencer and on our web site, and sticks his fingers in other various pieces of Surly propaganda. He even knows the difference between an “en dash” and an “em dash.” Never one to shy away from a snack, we are anxiously awaiting what’s going to happen when his metabolism inevitably chases him down and wreaks havoc on his soft, pastry-filled body.

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