heavyp
Retro Guru
The One That Got Away — Until It Didn’t
Where do you even start with a story like this? For me, it’s easy: the BeOne DH. Hands down, my favourite bike of all time. Sure, some folks might raise an eyebrow at that, but back when I was 15, I was obsessed with the BeOne team—and especially Bas de Bever. The guy was tall like me, fast as hell, and had that no-BS style on the bike that just drew me in.
But teenage dreams don’t always line up with real-world budgets. Back then, asking your parents to fork out £4,000 for a bike—especially one you’d be dragging across the flatter-than-flat DH tracks of the West Country—was a non-starter. So, the BeOne remained a dream. A poster on the wall. A desktop wallpaper. One of those bikes.
Fast forward 25 years and I’m deep in conversation with a guy who, it turns out, has a mind-blowing collection of rare, team-only bikes. I tell him about my BeOne obsession, and how I’ve barely seen one in the wild, let alone for sale. His reply?
“Oh, you mean like this?” BOOM. Picture drops. Not just any frame, but Bas de Bever’s actual team frame.
My jaw hit the floor.
Naturally, I asked if he’d sell it. His answer? A very firm no. Fair enough. We kept talking on and off for the next 18 months. I never pushed it again—just said, hey, if you ever decide to let it go, please give me a shout.
Then, out of the blue—four months of radio silence later—I wake up to a message:
“Send me an offer for the frame and I’ll think about it.”
Cue panic. I hate this bit. I threw out a number—not one I was particularly proud of, but it had to be done. Then… silence. Days passed. More silence. I figured I’d blown it. Maybe he was holding out for thousands.
Eventually I followed up, and after a bit of back and forth, he agreed to let it go—on one condition: I had to arrange pickup and shipping. Another curveball.
So I reached out to a mate in the UK. “You know anyone in SoCal?”
His response: “Yeah, hit this guy up.”
Total long shot—but I messaged the guy, and somehow he’s literally at LA coming home from holiday, driving back the next day, and just happens to be going through the exact town where the frame is located. What are the chances?
The universe (not my wife, for the record) clearly wanted this frame to make its way to me.
A few shipping quotes later, the deal was done—and now, after all these years, Bas de Bever’s own BeOne DH frame has officially landed in Australia.
Yeah, sorry about the pics—couldn’t help myself, just had to share. But now comes the hard part: building this thing. With barely any high-res photos of the original team builds, and plenty of spec swaps during that era, piecing together the correct parts is going to be its own mission.
I’ll get a proper parts list going soon, but if anyone out there knows what seatpost, stem, rims, or hubs the BeOne team was running back in the day—hit me up.
This one’s for 15-year-old me. Dreams do come true. Sometimes, they just take a quarter of a century and a bit of luck at LA.
Where do you even start with a story like this? For me, it’s easy: the BeOne DH. Hands down, my favourite bike of all time. Sure, some folks might raise an eyebrow at that, but back when I was 15, I was obsessed with the BeOne team—and especially Bas de Bever. The guy was tall like me, fast as hell, and had that no-BS style on the bike that just drew me in.
But teenage dreams don’t always line up with real-world budgets. Back then, asking your parents to fork out £4,000 for a bike—especially one you’d be dragging across the flatter-than-flat DH tracks of the West Country—was a non-starter. So, the BeOne remained a dream. A poster on the wall. A desktop wallpaper. One of those bikes.
Fast forward 25 years and I’m deep in conversation with a guy who, it turns out, has a mind-blowing collection of rare, team-only bikes. I tell him about my BeOne obsession, and how I’ve barely seen one in the wild, let alone for sale. His reply?
“Oh, you mean like this?” BOOM. Picture drops. Not just any frame, but Bas de Bever’s actual team frame.
My jaw hit the floor.
Naturally, I asked if he’d sell it. His answer? A very firm no. Fair enough. We kept talking on and off for the next 18 months. I never pushed it again—just said, hey, if you ever decide to let it go, please give me a shout.
Then, out of the blue—four months of radio silence later—I wake up to a message:
“Send me an offer for the frame and I’ll think about it.”
Cue panic. I hate this bit. I threw out a number—not one I was particularly proud of, but it had to be done. Then… silence. Days passed. More silence. I figured I’d blown it. Maybe he was holding out for thousands.
Eventually I followed up, and after a bit of back and forth, he agreed to let it go—on one condition: I had to arrange pickup and shipping. Another curveball.
So I reached out to a mate in the UK. “You know anyone in SoCal?”
His response: “Yeah, hit this guy up.”
Total long shot—but I messaged the guy, and somehow he’s literally at LA coming home from holiday, driving back the next day, and just happens to be going through the exact town where the frame is located. What are the chances?
The universe (not my wife, for the record) clearly wanted this frame to make its way to me.
A few shipping quotes later, the deal was done—and now, after all these years, Bas de Bever’s own BeOne DH frame has officially landed in Australia.
Yeah, sorry about the pics—couldn’t help myself, just had to share. But now comes the hard part: building this thing. With barely any high-res photos of the original team builds, and plenty of spec swaps during that era, piecing together the correct parts is going to be its own mission.
I’ll get a proper parts list going soon, but if anyone out there knows what seatpost, stem, rims, or hubs the BeOne team was running back in the day—hit me up.
This one’s for 15-year-old me. Dreams do come true. Sometimes, they just take a quarter of a century and a bit of luck at LA.
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(picture of a frame but not just any frame team rider Bas De Bevers frame) I couldn't hold onto my surprise and asked if I could buy it to which I was given a hard NO.
