Alpinestars Cro-Mega: The Accidental Parts Bin Special

I didn’t set out to build this bike.

That feels like the right place to start, because most of my builds usually have some sort of emotional justification attached to them. A bike I’ve been hunting for. A frame with a story. A colourway I can’t stop thinking about. A half-formed vision involving Nitto, Dia-Compe, friction shifting and some sort of questionable justification about “patina”.

This one was different. This one was peer pressure.

The components were mostly destined for something else. I’d picked up a Klein recently while in the US, and a lot of these parts had mentally been reserved for that project. But after getting it home and properly looking it over, the enthusiasm dipped a bit. The Mission Control bars were slightly bent, and that was enough to slow the whole thing down. Not forever, but enough to stop me diving straight in.

Then this Alpinestars frameset appeared.

At first, I wasn’t really interested. I already had another Alpinestars bike — the one I was really hunting — an aluminium special with all the oddball charm that pulled me into the brand in the first place. This steel Cro-Mega wasn’t part of the plan. I didn’t need another frame. I definitely didn’t need another project.

But through a bit of internet peer pressure from a social media connection, I slowly got talked into it. The more I looked at it, the more the colourway started doing the work. White and red, huge graphics, splatter panels, loud lettering, and that very particular early-90s energy where mountain bikes still looked like they had been designed by people with access to neon ski jackets and very little concern for restraint.

So, I bought the frameset.

I didn’t really want the parts that came with it, although I did end up taking a few bits in the deal. Most of them didn’t make it onto the final bike. What did happen, though, was that this frame arrived at exactly the wrong time — or maybe exactly the right time. I had the recently purchased Rivendell still fresh in my mind, the Klein paused, and the now-defunct Specialized Allez Epic leaving a hole in the parts ecosystem.

That Allez, for those following along on Instagram, suffered the kind of catastrophic failure that first-generation Allez Epics are sadly known for. Carbon tubes, steel lugs, bonded joints, and a reputation that catches up with them eventually. I loved the idea of that bike, but the frame had other plans.

So suddenly I had parts. Not crusty parts. Nice parts. Parts that deserved to become something.

This Alpinestars became the recipient.

And because I hadn’t planned it, the build ended up feeling a bit freer than usual. There was no great concept deck. No spreadsheet of period-correct components. No deep philosophical argument with myself about whether it should be 7-speed, 8-speed, modernised, restored, preserved or ruined. It was just a case of: what do I have, what looks good, and what can I make work?

The answer, apparently, was narrow bars, fat tyres and a lot of blue.

The blue theme started with the brakes. I had a set of Dia-Compe / Blue Lug cantis and they were too good not to use. They pick up the colour hits in the decals without feeling too matchy-matchy, which is always the fine line on a bike like this. From there, the rest of the small details started to make sense. Nissen brake and shifter housing throughout, with that lovely metallic pop that makes cable runs feel intentional rather than accidental.

The wheels were built around Ryde 26-inch rims. The front hub is a NOS Shimano Tiagra hub from 20/20 Cycle in Seattle, and the rear is a Shimano Deore LX hub I also picked up from the same place. I rebuilt the rear, laced them up, and gave the bike a wheelset that feels sturdy, practical and just polished enough.

For now, it’s running a 7-speed cassette because that’s what I had. The shifter is an oversized Dia-Compe friction unit because I couldn’t be bothered indexing the bike — and honestly, that feels completely right. On these sorts of builds, friction shifting takes away a lot of the fuss. No drama, no perfect compatibility rabbit hole, just move the lever until the chain is where it needs to be.

The drivetrain is where I went a little more contemporary. I fitted Race Face cranks and bottom bracket, which is fairly new territory for me on these builds. I like the ease of installation and I like the look. It gives the bike a more modern restomod feel without tipping it too far away from the spirit of the frame. It also suits the build’s accidental nature: an early-90s frame, modern-ish finishing kit, and whatever else happened to be within arm’s reach.

The tyres are SimWorks Super Yummys in 26 x 2.22. They’re beefy, grippy and probably not what I would have chosen if I were planning this from scratch. But visually, they work. The tan wall, the big volume, the slightly excessive tread — it gives the bike a stance. Not elegant, exactly. More like a small terrier in hiking boots.

The headset was another reminder that old mountain bikes like to keep things interesting. This frame uses a weird 1 1/4-inch setup. I rebuilt the existing headset, although it is definitely showing its age, so I now have eBay alerts running in the background like a man with a problem. Thankfully, the previous owner included a shim to convert it to 1 1/8, so I used a Nitto quill stem adapter and paired that with a Velo Orange stem and Milan bars.

The cockpit is maybe the most ridiculous part of the bike, and therefore probably the best. Narrow-ish polished bars, Dia-Compe SS6 brake levers, a soft front bag, and all those cables arcing around the front end. It is not a modern mountain bike cockpit. It is not particularly aggressive. It is not trying to convince anyone it is ready for a trail centre.

It is, however, very good at looking cool outside a coffee shop.

The saddle was another small indulgence. I’ve always hankered after a Brooks C17, and I found this worn-looking used one with blue rivets. It slots into the build perfectly. It adds a bit of texture and age without looking fake-aged, and the blue rivets tie back into the brakes and housing. A little detail, but one of those details that makes the whole thing feel more considered than it actually was.

That’s the funny thing with this bike. It looks like it had a plan.

It didn’t.

It was the by-product of a paused Klein, a failed Allez, a parts shelf with just enough good stuff on it, and a frame I was talked into buying. But the end result feels weirdly complete. The Alpinestars graphics do a lot of the heavy lifting, obviously. They’re loud, playful and unapologetically of their time. The red fork and front triangle against the white rear end gives it that split-personality look that shouldn’t work as well as it does. Add the blue hardware, gold chain, tan tyres and black bag, and somehow it all lands.

Is it practical? Sort of.

Is it the bike I needed? Absolutely not.

Is it the bike I wanted once it existed? Yes.

Use case? Posing, of course.

London, here I come.

Build notes

Frame: Alpinestars Cro-Mega steel frameset, Tange MTB butted tubing
Fork: Alpinestars Cro-Mega blades
Headset: Original 1 1/4-inch headset, rebuilt, currently shimmed for 1 1/8-inch setup
Stem setup: Nitto quill stem adapter with Velo Orange stem
Bars: Velo Orange Milan
Brake levers: Dia-Compe SS6
Brakes: Dia-Compe / Blue Lug cantilevers
Cables: Nissen brake and shifter housing throughout
Chain: Gold chain. Because it was too short for my Riv
Shifter: Oversized Dia-Compe friction shifter
Cranks: Race Face
Bottom bracket: Race Face
Cassette: 7-speed, for now
Rear derailleur: Shimano XTR
Chain: Gold chain
Rims: Ryde Andra 40, 26-inch
Front hub: NOS Shimano Tiagra from 20/20 Cycle, Seattle
Rear hub: Shimano Deore LX, rebuilt
Tyres: SimWorks Super Yummy 26 x 2.22
Saddle: Brooks C17 with blue rivets
Bag: Front handlebar bag from Ron's Bikes (Clap Trap) from the parts pile, naturally