Some bikes are served to us on a silver platter, replete with back story, specifications, build photos, screen shots from the eBay ad, the builder's mothers maiden name, when she lost her virginity and some original polaroids of the aforementioned event (with handwritten notes), and a professionally shot selection of photos with notes from the lensman himself noting time of day, ambient temperature, and how many beers he'd had with his delicious lunchtime meat pie. Then there's this bike. You want information? We have just about as little as we possibly could without having nothing but a gaping black hole where our email inbox used to be. The real crime here? It's that something so arse-smackingly cool can be so damn anonymous - like finding out that the hottie across the room at the party who took your breath away is actually suffering from amnesia.