Can't Fix Your Bike? It's An Environmental And Economic Justice Issue

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--nearly half a century ago!--bicycles were touted as environmentally friendly alternatives to gas guzzlers.  At the risk of sounding like someone who pines for "the good old days," I'll say that most adult cyclists of the time were not merely "signaling" their concern for our habitat; they, as often as not, made other choices in line with their values.

Today, while some are "bikewashing" their lifestyles, there are some who are genuinely concerned with such matters as human-enhanced climate change.  So, while they might cycle to work or school (or, at least to the bus or train that takes them there), recycle the bottles, cans and other packaging they use during their lunch breaks and, perhaps, try to buy as local as possible, they could unwittingly be making at least one choice that undermines their other efforts.

To wit:  Their bicycles might be part of the problem.  Now, I don't mean to be pick on such folks.  Most people, especially if they're buying their first bike in decades, aren't familiar with how or where their bikes are made, or anticipate the normal wear and tear--and repairs--that come with regular use.  They also assume that "new is better," which is sometimes, but not always true.

Most mechanics, or anyone who's been cycling for, say, two decades or more, won't necessarily agree that "new is better."  It's true that almost any derailleur made today shifts better than almost any made fifty or forty years ago.  And, depending on your point of view, some other parts today are more efficient, convenient or lighter than their predecessors.  

But one problem is that most of those parts--or the bikes themselves--are not built to last because they're not made to be fixed.  "If I get a Huffy from the '90's, chances are I can actually make repairs to it," says Mac Liman. It will be heavy, but at least "the steel will hold together," she explains, and the result will be a serviceable, if inelegant, piece of basic transportation.

Liman would know:  She's been a mechanic for 19 years, the past  14 at Denver's Bikes Together shop.  Those Huffys were sold mainly in big-box shops like Wal-Mart, which sold out all of its bikes in March 2020.  "We're already starting to get those bikes," Liman lamented, "And we can't fix them."

One problem is the shortage of available parts caused by COVID-19-related manufacturing and supply chain disruptions. But an even bigger issue is simply the poor quality of those bikes:  Their frames crack and they have non-standard parts that can't be replaced at a reasonable price. "I've seen bearing cups that just fall out of hubs, so there's no way you can rebuild them," Liman says.

Her experiences have led her to join a petition calling for bikes to be repairable.  Its earliest supporters were mechanics at non-profit bicycle co-operatives and training programs like Recycle-A-Bicycle.  Cheap bikes from big-box stores are often donated, or brought in for repair, to such shops.  And people who buy bikes from such places are looking for something good and reliable for not very much money.

Now I have to admit that I was once one of those elitist bicycle snobs who snickered when I saw a department-store bike.  But I now understand that people buy such bikes, not because they're stupid, but because they don't know (yet!) why they should--or can't afford--to buy something better.

So, making unrepairabe bikes, like making almost anything else that's disposable, contributes to degrading the very environment some for which some folks are signaling their support by being seen on a bike.  And, as with so many other environmental issues, it's also a matter or social and economic justice, because it affects the working poor even more than those who buy those shiny-new Linuses and Brooklyn bikes.

Using Bicycles To Break A Cycle

Community-minded cyclists have started organizations like New York's Recycle-a-Bicycle all over the US.  Their stated goals usually include, keeping old but serviceable bicycles out of landfills, providing good bicycles that are affordable (many such organizations sell bikes to finance, among  other things, giving bikes to the poor) and helping people learn bicycle-related skills.

That last goal often has another positive side effect:  It engages young people.  Kids who are misfits or outcasts become confident when they ride with cyclists who want to share their love of cycling, or when they learn how to fix or even build bikes.  

Any time a kid is involved with an activity that takes dedication--whether it's cycling, chess, a school magazine, dance or something else--he or she is less likely to be involved with gangs, drugs or other things that can adversely affect their lives and futures.

From Remember Us Urban Scouts' Facebook page

Now it seems that organizations that serve young people are seeing the value of cycling.  One such organization is Remember Us Urban Scouts of Columbus, Ohio. It has partnered with the city's Parks and Recreation Department to create a mobile bike shop that will be sent into low-income communities.

"One thing that impacts people that live in low-income areas is mobility," obsereves Ayriq Sims.  The RUUS Program Director explained that in such communities, people lack transportation because they family may not have a car, the kid doesn't have a bike and nobody in the family can afford bus fare.  

The result is that kids can't, for example, get to the activities that build social skills and positive memories for young people.  They thus feel alienated and are easy to recruit into gangs, or are otherwise vulnerable to getting sucked into get involved in the worst the streets have to offer.  If it doesn't lead to jail or death, Sims says, it can lead to "lifelong trauma."

So, Remember Us Urban Scouts is extending work that urban bicycle recycling programs and bike clubs are already doing:  Using a bicycle to break a cycle--of youth violence.

Will It Become Lost Art?

Yesterday, while riding to my weekly volunteer stint at Recycle A Bicycle, I chanced upon something I may never get to see again:

Two years ago, David Wolkoff, who owns the property on which 5 Pointz is located, announced plans to raze the building and construct two towers of luxury condos in its place.  The demolition has been scheduled for next month.

Given that 5 Pointz is located just behind the old courthouse (one of the most attractive buildings in Queens, in my opinion) and less than half a kilometer from PS 1 and the Citicorp building.  As much as it pains me to say this, it's actually rather surprising that 5 Pointz has endured in its location in a quickly-gentrifying neighborhood for two decades.

That means, of course, something else that it pains me to say:  Two decades' worth of some of the best graffiti, by some of the best-known graffiti artists, will be lost.  And artists who have studios inside the building (for which they've been paying below-market rents) will have to find new digs.  Some might actually leave New York altogether.

It also means the loss of one of those landmarks that provides cyclists in New York with a vista different from any other.  

Helping To Keep Citi Bikes On The Streets

Did I work on that bike?

These days, I ask myself that question whenever I see a Citi Bike, whether someone’s riding it or it’s parked in a dock.

When I worked for Michael’s Bicycle Company and Highland Park Cyclery, both of which were located in relatively small New Jersey communities, I would often see people riding bikes I’d repaired or assembled.  Or I would see those bikes parked in front of stores, cafes or libraries. Even if they were common models like the Schwinn Varsity or Peugeot UO-8 or P-6 , I could immediately tell which ones were “mine.”  This was especially true when I worked at Highland Park, where many Rutgers professors and students (I was one!) bought bikes or brought them in for repair.

No matter how generic their bikes, most cyclists did something or another that made their bikes distinguishable from the others.  Sometimes it had to do with accessories—one had an air horn, another a bell; someone might install a Pletscher rack while someone else with the same model  of bike would opt for a bag or not to attach any means of carrying books, groceries or whatever.  And then, of course, some cyclists festooned their bikes with stickers and decals of their favorite political causes, while others striped theirs with reflective tape.

In a way, I guess I was like a pig farmer:  He or she can tell one sow from the other even though they all look alike because he or she notices some mark, blemish or other detail no one else would see.  

Such means of identification are impossible on Citi Bikes.  The only differences from one to the next are the number on the chainguard and, of course, the serial numbers, which are located elsewhere on the bike.  

In addition to the chainguard, every Citi Bike has the same fenders, front basket, lights and bell.  In fact, every part of every Citi Bike is identical.  The only differences between each bike come in the idiosyncracies one normally finds in manufactured products.

I don’t mean any of this to be a criticism of Citi Bikes or the bikeshare program.  In fact, the bikes’ sameness is one of the reasons why the program has been so successful:  It’s easier to create “buzz”—so important in a city like New York—when a product or program has a particular, readily-identifiable “look,” if you will.  Just ask anyone in the fashion industry, advertising or the media.

It also makes it easier to keep the fleet up and running.  Parts can be easily swapped from one bike to another, if need be.  Also, the uniformity of the machines means that there are, really, only a few distinct repair issues.  In turn, mechanics don’t have to spend much time or energy diagnosing problems, as they might in a more polyglot bike shop.  What that means is that, based on my own observation,  each Citi Bike’s “visit” to a repair stand doesn’t take as long as a regular bike in a typical shop.

I worked on this one--I think!

Still, there was a backlog of repairs—mainly flat tires. That’s where I and five other Recycle-A-Bicycle volunteers came in.  We were temporarily recruited (for two weeks) to help get the bikes back out on the streets.

Now, that backlog was not in any way a reflection of the competence or efficiency of the regular Bike Share staff.  Indeed, some of them were working, or had worked, in some of the best bike shops in this city and elsewhere.  The fact that there were so many bikes, most with flats, waiting to be fixed was testament to just how much the bikes were being used.    You might say that, in that sense, the program was—at least for a time—a victim of its success.

So, for nearly two weeks the other RAB folks and I set out to clear away the logjam.  Not to boast, but we did so slightly ahead of schedule:  Each of us went home early on the last day of our two-week commitment.

In addition to flats, we tackled other repair issues.  For example, I trued some wheels, which I actually enjoy doing more than other bike repair work.  (I’ve built wheels.)  I also adjusted bearings, gears and brakes—and removed graffiti!

In all, I enjoyed the experience:  The people, including the mechanics and the Bike Share office staff, are friendly and diverse.  But, I must say I realized that all of my cycling hasn’t done much to improve my upper-body strength whenever I lifted a Citi Bike into a repair stand:  Each one weighs twice as much as any of my Mercians.  Also, I was reminded that nearly two decades have passed since I regularly worked in a bike shop:  Volunteering once a week at Recycle-A-Bicycle simply can’t compare to that.  At least two of the RAB volunteers who worked with me weren’t even born the last time I worked daily in a bike shop.  When they got the hang of things, I simply could not keep up with their pace.  

Still, I would like to think that I can look back and think that, in whatever small way, I have contributed to the success of a program that, I hope and believe, will see even further success.  That gives me some hope about the future of this city and society, and about young people.  If more are like the ones with whom I worked, all is not lost.  As long as they are working, and more people ride bikes (which is one of the real values of the bikeshare program), this city and country can be more liveable, and the economy more sustainable.