Following years of territorial encroachment by the growing non-native Jump Bike population, bicinogrophers at UC Santa Cruz believe the world’s last wild Santa Cruz Mountain Bike has met its end. The specimen, tagged by graduate student Krimoné Sharmudgeon in 2016, lived a solitary life in the mountainous upper campus region, surviving on spilled dab oil to grease its spokes. It was found sprawled, lifeless, on a Pogonip trail on Sunday, beside the decapitated body of a college freshman who tried to ride it.
“It is a truly sad day,” proclaimed Sharmudgeon to a crowd of dozens in a $77,000 press conference at the recently remodeled Quarry Amphitheatre. “I have two years left in my PhD, but now the mountain bikes that animated me and drove me onward have left me bereft, and I fear I may not be long of this earth as well…” Sharmudgeon lapsed into a pensive silence, and crabcakes were served.
The origins of the ancient Santa Cruz Mountain Bike are lost in time, but recent archaeological digs have revealed the presence of ancient specimens carved entirely out of one felled redwood, like a canoe. An 1863 photograph attests to the first limestone bike, which came into fashion during the civil war after all the redwoods were shipped off to make really long muskets, the precursor to the modern cannon. The last Santa Cruz Mountain Bikes, survivors of a genetic bottleneck in the twentieth century, were mostly cobbled together out of shattered bong pieces, each joint expertly tied together with a single blonde dred by Santa Cruz Mountain Men.
Travis Kalanick, disgraced founder of Jump-parent Uber and subsequent founder of the Pasadena boutique chain “Kalanick’s Colonics,” was reported to have been seen cackling at the news.
“Finally, our domination has become complete,” he yelled, disturbing the experiences of many customers of his new enterprise. “In all the Greater Bay Area, there is no force left to oppose our will!”
At press time, Sharmudgeon, the graduate student from earlier, was reported to have withdrawn from the university to refocus themselves on their childhood love of the bassoon, a passion they abandoned in the hedonistic rat race that is the state of modern academia. They are currently surviving on a diet of leftover hors d’œuvres from the $77,000 press conference. Cod bless them.