"Well, this guy mattered. He mattered to a lot of people."

— friend of Greg Diamond

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A Record Assembled in Pieces

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What has been recorded of Greg Diamond’s framebuilding only began to come together in 2009, nearly 20 years after his passing. A collector purchased a Diamond made bike based only on its obvious quality and then went looking for more about the builder. There was little online, and outside an older generation of passionate cyclists around Santa Barbara and San Marcos, California few had first-hand knowledge of Greg. What followed over the next several years was something unusual: a biography assembled in public, over time, by a wide-variety of people whose only connection to one another was the bicycles Greg created.

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Former bike shop coworkers posted. Customers posted. A friend who had moved to New York posted on the twentieth anniversary of Diamond's passing. His younger brother Fran posted. A nephew posted - he still rides a Diamond bike in Oregon. Jim Diamond, Greg's older brother, confirmed the date of Greg’s passing, mentioned the family frames still in circulation, and offered to share a recording Greg had made of about 45 minutes of six- and twelve-string guitar before he passed away. Each post added to the thread on the BikeForums website, revealing another aspect of Greg's career. A Classic Rendezvous page gathered photographs of surviving frames; just more than a dozen have been verified. The thread became the most complete surviving record of a building career that lasted more than a decade and produced a few hundred frames.

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That is where the following story of Greg Diamond began.

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Searching for Identity

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Greg Diamond was born in Reading, Pennsylvania on March 28, 1952. Raised in a Catholic household, he had twin brothers just a year and half older, and would gain another brother a year and a half after he was born.

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When he was 10, Greg became fascinated with butterflies, constructing his own equipment to catch them, then mounting them on display boards, including the scientific name and habitat. It was good enough that a local museum took his collection and put it on display. He had the ability to focus on something with incredible intent.

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Diamond worked in a Pennsylvania bicycle shop where he would first encounter quality road bikes. He spent summers working in steel and tubing factories, studied at St. Joseph’s University in Philadelphia, leaving school his junior year. He would later take a few courses at UC-Santa Barbara.

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His older brother Jim shared that at home Greg struggled with his identity. The relationship with his father suffered. Then, in 1972, flooding from Hurricane Agnes devastated their home near the Schuylkill River. There was no flood insurance, his father lost an extensive cherished book collection. The four boys shoveled mud from the house that had water fill the basement and four feet of the first floor.

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It was time for Greg to leave. He withdrew from college and searched for what was next. According to his brother, Greg didn’t want to do anything but play guitar and build bikes, nothing else appealed to him. He first headed to Chicago, moving in with Jean Emond, a close friend from high school who was attending the University of Chicago. From there, Greg plotted a cross-county bike ride.

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Greg rode his bike from Atlantic City to San Francisco, among other adventures. He applied for a job at Open Air Bicycles and happily headed to California when he got it. Greg landed in California in 1975. Arriving in Santa Barbara, he found a vibrant scene of cyclists, and framebuilders, as well as a welcoming gay community.

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Diamond quickly became a fixture in Santa Barbara and Isla Vista cycling circles. He’s remembered by those who knew him at Open Air Bicycles as more than another shop mechanic, but as an authority on all things bikes, a guru that younger mechanics leaned on for knowledge. From racing geometry to frame build prep and the latest Campagnolo components, Greg was the person to go to. Open Air Bicycles closed in March, 2026, having remained an independent bike shop from its founding.

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Though they did not remain in close contact, Emond and his soon-to-be wife visited Greg in the summer of 1976. The couple embarked on a western bus and cycling trip prior to Jean starting medical school, passing through Santa Barbara. They visited Greg and saw that he had found his home. He was surrounded by friends and always busy with bikes and his guitar.

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The Frames

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Diamond built custom road frames out of an industrial unit in Santa Barbara, working in the lugged construction tradition with silver brazing. Freddy Parr, a friend and colleague with extensive industry experience, estimated that Diamond constructed only about two hundred frames at most, but that his brazing had near-robotic precision from the start. Greg’s portfolio page on display at CyclArt in the late 1980s stated that he had built approximately 600. Presumably written, or at least approved by Greg, this may represent the best estimate of his frame numbers. However, no one who saw Greg work and knew him well through the 1980s can believe he was that productive. It’s nearly certain that the number includes a variety of collaborations and frame orders that were rebadged, with “Diamond” bicycles only numbering in the very low hundreds.

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The exact beginning and end of Diamond’s building has been pieced together through various friends and collectors. His first employer at Wolverton’s Bike Shop shared that he had his own custom Bill Boston frame at the shop and Greg would admire it endlessly. He poured over the brazed lugs and cutouts, until one day stating, “I’m going to build myself a frame.” That first effort by Greg, a black road frame, was “astounding” according to the shop owner.

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Parr believed that some frames might date as early as 1977–79 several years earlier than most accounts initially stated. Several documented frames were purchased new in the mid-1980s. One challenge in dating Greg’s work is that for years he completed frames devoid of any branding, decals, or serial numbers. If, as his CyclArt portfolio states, he began building full time in 1975, he would have produced approximately 40 frames per year.

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The now-familiar decal set, the ace of diamonds playing card on the head tube and seat tube, and block “DIAMONDUSA” with a diamond cutout in the “O” very nearly didn’t happen, and it didn’t come from Greg. Paul Brown of Cycle Dynamics in Novato, California, northern Marin County, was selling unbranded Diamond frames and had a customer who wanted a logo on her bike displaying who built it.

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The Diamond owner had a design background and Paul suggested she create a decal set. The playing card and block lettering was the result. Her bike was decalled, along with a few others. Paul sent several extra sets to Greg, all without his knowledge of any of this taking place, encouraging him to use them on future builds. He was furious, slamming down the phone after a very brief conversation.

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Greg did use them in the end, and people liked them. About six months after receiving them, he admitted to Paul that the design was “maybe better than just alright”. Though he never admitted to loving them, he did use the design until he stopped building. Without those decals, it’s easy to imagine knowledge of Greg’s work disappearing over time.

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According to those who knew him, those who saw him wield a torch, Diamond's approach to the work was uncompromising. He was a detail-oriented perfectionist who would not hesitate to start over if he didn't think something turned out right, a trait that tested the patience of clients who were already waiting weeks for a frame. Greg’s documented frames show significant variety, the use of different lug sets, tubing, and even several filet brazed, monostay frames.

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Nevin Musgrave, a co-worker at CyclArt for a time and a friend of Greg’s who assisted him in frame building shared, “He was never fast at anything. It was all done by hand, every bit of it.” He worked on “Diamond” bikes almost exclusively in the evenings and into the night. According to co-workers, he wanted to build a great bicycle and that was enough for him. He built bikes to satisfy himself, not others.

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No records were kept regarding orders and so almost nothing is known about the provenance of Greg’s bikes. But there are exceptions, two dating from around 1984-1985. The yellow bike shared here was built for David Knopf, a CyclArt employee and friend of Greg. A blue filet-brazed bike was Greg’s, built for himself. After his passing, it went to Clay Mankin at City Cycle in San Francisco, which sold Diamond bikes, then to Musgrave, and eventually to Knopf. The bike is still built as Greg had assembled it.

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A Studio at CyclArt

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Jim Cunningham, founder of CyclArt, the renowned California frame restoration and painting studio, painted most Diamond frames starting in 1984. CyclArt had begun in 1976 as a bicycle repair and paint shop that would go on to paint for many custom builders. The shop was set to paint bikes by Mario Confente after he had been locked out of his shop before he passed away. Jim and Greg met at Interbike, once the industry’s dominant trade show. Diamond walked into the CyclArt booth at the Anaheim show and struck up a conversation.

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The result of that meeting was that Greg would take up residence within CyclArt and pay rent by repairing and modifying frames that came through the door. The shop had recently expanded to 3,500sf and had unused space. This gave Greg an independent workspace to create his own bikes, while taking on enough work to pay the rent, a perfect arrangement for someone building under an independent label but seeking community. There were 12 employees at the shop when Greg joined.

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Much of Greg’s history with CyclArt came from a chance conversation at the 2026 Classic Bicycles Auburn event. As Jim eyed a yellow Diamond bike on display, a conversation struck up: “I remember the day I hired Greg to work at the shop!” Among the first memories of Greg offered was that he invariably had to joke to tell each morning upon arriving at CyclArt. To Jim, this demonstrated just how much Greg naturally cared for others. It's a small action, but also reveals discipline and preparation, two traits that would serve a framebuilder well.

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By the nature of the work, CyclArt saw frames from dozens of builders stripped bare. All the southern California builders' frames came through regularly, Tesch, Baylis, Moulton, and many more. Cunningham says Diamond was as good as any and better than most. Yet what comes to the fore is that Greg was simply a good person. Again, Cunningham: “I worked with a lot of artists with ego, but Greg was a sweet person, a pleasure to work with. I really loved the guy.” 

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He was apparently easy to like. One story from this time stands out. Cunningham invited a teen he often saw on a bike in the area to visit the shop. The kid may have been homeless and displayed some mental impairment. He wasn’t able to really help at the shop, but Greg was always kind to the kid and let him observe his work.

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One night, the new landlord’s brother, who had opened an auto repair shop next door, was typically drunk and flew into a rage believing someone had stolen a tool. He appeared at CyclArt with a shotgun, pointed it at Greg and threatened to kill him if he didn’t return his tools. Jim shared that Greg told him the kid intervened, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing toward himself, telling the drunk to shoot him and not Greg. This startled the man enough that he retreated to his shop, later to be banned from the property. 

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Retail Partners: City Cycle, Cycle Dynamics & Carnegie Bicycle Repair

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Many Diamond frames were sold via direct order, either through Greg’s work at Open Air in his first years in California, CyclArt, or by word-of-mouth among Santa Barbara cyclists. But he also developed relationships with boutique shops focused on high-end builders such as the renowned City Cycle shop in San Francisco’s Cow Hollow neighborhood. No single record of these relationships exists, but the “City Cycle” shop sticker appears on a documented Diamond frame with original paint and Diamond decals.

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City Cycle wasn’t just any bike shop. In 2012, Peloton Magazine celebrated City Cycle as one of 10 shops in the US that led the “bicycle studio” movement decades prior. As Peloton described them, such shops “tend to have less clutter, less commodity… they feature custom brands and high end accessories for riders who live their whole lives by bike.” “(City Cycle) proved that you could build great bikes and make good money out of a very small space, if only you sold the right products.” This sounds like the perfect place for a Diamond bicycle.

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City Cycle was founded in 1986. Run by Clay Mankin, the shop was an early dealer for Serotta and Seven, handling California custom builders as well. A dedicated cycling advocate, he was known for closing the shop each year on Jimi Hendrix’s birthday for a memorial ride. Mankin collapsed at the side of the road and passed away in 2005 while riding alone to Santa Barbara. Today, the 3100 Steiner Street location is a Trek Store.

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Rick Hunter, of Hunter Cycles, purchased Diamond’s old Bernie Mikkelsen designed frame jig from City Cycle and used that jig to begin his own framebuilding career after studying machining at the College of Marin. The jig and other framebuilding tools were dug out of the City Cycle basement. Although Rick never met Greg, he does still use the odd tube block or other tool that were once Diamond’s. The jig itself is now in the hands of Todd Ingermanson at Blackcat Cycles.

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Another celebrated shop offering custom Diamond bikes was Brown’s Cycle Dynamics. Introduced to Greg by Chris Pauley, the shop would sell approximately 30 Diamond bikes over several years. In a brochure produced for the shop, Brown highlighted the high-end custom builders with whom he worked. The list: Brian R. Baylis, Columbine, Greg Diamond, Dave Tesch, and Jeffrey Richman - an incredible line-up of talent.

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The Cycle Dynamics text read: Greg Diamond is the frame repairman at CyclArt - the famous Paintworks in San Marcos. If you crunch your Hetchins, Masi, etc., Greg's the guy brazing in new tubes and putting it back together. His exposure to pro bikes is enormous! His own bikes are among the cleanest you'll see anywhere. The "Ace of Diamond" head and seat badge sums up his fine construction detail. Diamond custom frames start at $750.

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Brown’s Cycle Dynamics was a fit-first shop in the same vein as City Cycle. He had learned to be meticulous in all things mechanical from his father servicing Leica cameras and many other items, construction from summers with his brother-in-law, and honed his aesthetic sense and creative abilities as an accomplished glass blower. Cycle Dynamics was perhaps the first shop in the Bay Area to have an adjustable sizing fixture, which Brown bought on-sight from Ben Serotta in Reno. He sought out and presented only what he considered the absolute highest quality of craftsmanship and aesthetics to his customers.

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Whether born from serendipity, an effort to ramp up production to earn more income, or simply interesting collaborations within his social circle, Greg produced at least two batch runs of frames that bore names other than “Diamond”.

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Greg collaborated with frame builder Chris Pauley to build bikes under the “Hibiscus” marquee for the Cycle Dynamics shop in Novato, California. These were sloping top tube, smaller frame bikes with 700c wheels. He also produced a series of bicycles for Steve Loveland at the Carnegie Bicycle Repair shop in Spokane, Washington, which it sold under the “Loveland” marquee.

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Like the aforementioned shops, Carnegie was an outpost for custom road bikes. The shop was an early dealer for Davidson bicycles before Bill Davidson would partner with Bob Freeman to open Elliott Bay Cycles near Pike Place Market in Seattle. Carnegie also offered custom bicycles from Glenn Erickson.

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Loveland was introduced to Greg by Chris Pauley, who at the time was struggling to complete orders for his immensely time consuming fillet brazed custom frames. Greg would produce a run of 10 frames, built and painted at CyclArt, delivered to Steve and then hand-lettered with “Loveland” by The Sign Man in Spokane.

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To address the challenging geometry of smaller frames, Greg would combine lugs that had been reworked with filet brazing, meaning frames weren’t confined to standard tubing angles by the lugs. According to Steve, Greg turned around the bikes quickly. Paint was often a reason for delay, but by working at CyclArt was probably the reason the bikes could be delivered in a reasonable timeframe. Steve sold the 10 Loveland bikes, and about 15 bikes with “Diamond” on the downtube.

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Music

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Diamond was an avid acoustic guitarist. Every conversation with someone who knew Greg includes guitars alongside bicycles. He performed regularly in local coffee shops and festivals. He played a wide-ranging repertoire, from bluegrass to classical to Celtic traditional, as well as his own arrangements and compositions in the style of Leo Kottke, whose work he particularly admired. Greg played both six- and twelve-string guitar and was said to practice with the same intensity he brought to framebuilding.

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Greg was a regular performer at Borsodi's Coffeehouse, a bohemian-style cafe in Isla Vista that operated from 1967 to 1989 at 938 Embarcadero Del Norte, known for live music, poetry readings, and other performances. Diamond also performed at the Santa Barbara Summer Solstice Festival. According to his brother Jim, before his death, his partner recorded approximately 45 minutes of six- and twelve-string music.

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AIDS

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The AIDS epidemic of the 1980s and early 1990s took a significant toll on craft and creative communities across the United States. Among framebuilders and cyclists, as among musicians, painters, and artisans concentrated in urban and coastal communities the losses were disproportionate and often poorly documented.

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Careers ended before they were fully established, knowledge that had not yet been passed on went with the people who held it. These individuals didn’t grow old enough to spend time reminiscing on their work, or share a synthesized philosophy of life-lessons learned. Their story was left to be rediscovered by strangers decades later. Greg Diamond's story is one version of that tragic pattern.

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Santa Barbara had a robust gay community in 1975. In a town of 70,000 there were reportedly three gay bars, and the University of California-Santa Barbara had organized a Gay Student Union in 1970 in the wake of the Stonewall Uprising in New York City earlier that year. The community was reportedly welcomed by most residents, though faced occasional harassment.

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According to Cunningham, Diamond first learned that his partner was diagnosed with HIV/AIDS. His own diagnosis followed shortly thereafter. Greg stopped building frames a number of months before he died, redirecting his energies toward taking care of his partner, and advocating for housing for people with AIDS in Santa Barbara. He also spent that time speaking to students, church groups, and community organizations about living with AIDS, openly and honestly, at a time when the epidemic frequently brought out fear and discrimination rather than support.

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The cause he worked toward took institutional form. Heath House opened its doors at 18 East Sola Street in Santa Barbara in 1989, founded by retired public health worker Alice Heath to provide residential care for people dying from HIV/AIDS. Diamond lived to see it open. He passed away from complications of AIDS on February 14, 1990, Valentine's Day, seven months after Heath House opened its doors. Greg’s older brother Joe would succumb to AIDS nine months after Greg.

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Legacy

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Greg Diamond left behind a few hundred frames that bear his name. There do not appear to be any interviews, no serial number ledger, no glossy promotional materials. The quality of his work led to his remembrance, and revealed his many other qualities to be celebrated. The biography as it exists today was assembled in his absence, posted in fragments by former coworkers, customers, family, and friends scattered from Oregon to New York, their only connection being the bicycles Greg created.

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The word artifact finds its root in the Latin arte factum, "made with skill." An artifact can reveal to us what people created, but also how they lived, and this is what remains of Greg. His frames remain in use. Family bicycles are still ridden. Collectors seek out a Diamond not only for its scarcity but for the meticulousness built into it. A bicycle frame can't attest to who someone was, but it can't lie about the care that went into making it, the same care that once tested the patience of his clients is exactly what has survived him.

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Greg was self-taught and uncompromising, a perfectionist.. His output was small by circumstance and temperament. The people who saw him with a torch placed him among the best of a generation of Southern California builders. The people who simply knew him remembered something else: that he was kind and generous with what he knew. Greg spent his final months caring for those he knew and for those he would never meet.

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As one friend ended a conversation about Greg, simply: "Well, this guy mattered. He mattered to a lot of people."

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Photos of Diamond bikes by 3bbb /// Photos of Greg Diamond courtesy of Jim Cunningham, CyclArt