Learning Their ABCDEs

 Those of us who attended school in countries that use the Roman alphabet (or variations of it) began our education by “learning our ABC’s.”

Well, some young people in central Kansas are continuing their education by learning the ABCDE’s.

Oh, and their lessons will come on Sunday. But they won’t be part of “Sunday School” because, for one thing, they have nothing to do with religion and, for another, they’re being conducted at the Barton County Fairgrounds.

The bike repair workshops will run from 1 to 3 pm and are open to anyone in grades 4 to 12.

Hosting this event are the Golden Belt Badgers. If that sounds like a really cool name for a school mountain bike team, well, that’s exactly what it is.  The Badgers are sanctioned by the National Interscholastic Cycling Association.

Even if none of the kids go on to become professional mechanics or racers—or employed in any way by the cycling industry—I can’t help but to think that learning the ABCDEs will make them more confident riders. I know it had that effect on me.

By the way, the ABCDEs are:

Air (tires & pressure)

Brakes

Chain

Derailleur 

Everything else.

Howard Sutherland R.I.P.

 Yesterday I wrote about how, in the old days (You get to say things like that in midlife!), when putting together a bicycle drivetrain, you didn’t have to worry much about compatibility. One company’s derailleurs worked with another firm’s shift levers, and it didn’t matter how many cogs were on your freewheel.

The bad news was that such compatibility didn’t extend to other parts of the bicycle. There was—and is—a dizzying array of seatpost diameters, for example. Oh, and good luck finding a replacement for that “Swiss” threaded bottom bracket. Velo Orange offers modern sealed bearing bottom brackets in it and other “obsolete” configurations, but they might not fit your crank.

Back in the old days (!) many bike shop employees and owners weren’t aware of those, and other (non)compatibility issues. And when the ‘70’s Bike Boom exploded in the States, shop mechanics and managers came across bikes and parts they’d never seen before and didn’t know what they needed in order to assemble or repair them.

A certain mechanic was working at the Missing Link Bicycle Cooperative in Berkeley, California. Henoticed the problems I’ve described and how grappling with them was keeping shops from running more efficiently—which, he thought, was keeping people from enjoying cycling.

So what did he do? He compiled data on all sorts of bike parts and wrote a book he self-published.

If you’ve worked in a bike shop during the past half-century, you’ve used it or its six subsequent editions. Even if you haven’t worked in a shop, you might have owned and used it.

If Tom Cuthbertson’s “Anybody’s Bike Book” was an my introduction to bike repair, then Howard Sutherland’s “Handbook for Bicycle Mechanics” brought my knowledge and helped to elevate my skills to a shop level. It’s often been called the bike mechanic’s “bible.”

The first edition of Cuthbertson’s book came out in 1971, at the dawn of the Bike Boom. Sutherland published the first edition of his volume two years later, as the Boom was nearing high noon, if you will. Such books were very important for American cyclists and bike shops because much generational or institutional knowledge had been lost during the previous half-century or so when few American adults cycled. Much of that knowledge survived in Europe and Japan, where people cycled for transportation and recreation. But, in those days before the Internet, it was difficult to find.

So cyclists and bike mechanics certainly owe a debt of gratitude to Howard Sutherland, who passed away last month at 75. A memorial service will be at 10 am (Pacific time) today in the Berkeley City Club.

Fun fact: He had a brother who predeceased him and a sister who survives him. Their names? Mac and Beth. You’d think their parents were Shakespeare scholars or actors.

A Doorway To Easier Bike Repairs

Basically, there are two kinds of bicycle repair stands.

One, which you see in most well-equipped shops, is strong and stable.  It allows for a great degree of adjustability of the bicycle's position.  They are not, however, feasible for most home mechanics as they are heavy, immobile, impossible to store--and expensive. They also take up a lot of space.

The other kind, is smaller, lighter and less expensive. Not surprisingly, however, it's less stable and adjustable and not as strong. 

The Altangle Hangar Connect aims to combine the best features of both types of racks.

Constructed of high-quality aluminum tubing anodized in orange or black, this new rack can be set up "in almost any standard doorframe," according to the manufacturer.  The tubes have rubber feet to protect the finish of the doorframe, and the Hangar stays securely in place. The clamp offers 360-degree rotation with 12 lock-out points, which allows the bike to be angled into whatever position is most convenient for the task at hand.  The clamp also adjusts to fit a wide variety of seat post diameters.

Best of all, the Hangar Connect folds to 4.5" x 4.5" x 19.5" and weighs only 7 pounds.  So, I could store it in my closet with my cycling shoes and stiletto-heeled sandals (which I haven't worn in I don't-know-how-long). The only feature of a big repair stand the Hangar Connect doesn't capture is its strength:  The HC is not recommended for bikes that weigh more than 50 pounds.

Its regular retail price will be $340, but Altangle--which also offers other bike tools and acessories--is offering it for $272.  They promise:  "We commit to a 30-day, no questions asked, return policy.  Decide the Hangar isn't for you?  No worries. Get a full refund.

When You Come To A Fork In The Road

Having worked as a bike mechanic, I know the importance of having the right tool for the job.

There are some situations, though, when you just don't have it.  So what do you do?

Tosca's Face Lift

This season has been quite a coming-out party--for me and my bikes.

A few posts ago, I introduced you to Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special.  She's a gift to myself for a round-number birthday that's coming in July.  

The other day, I told you about my first ride with my new-old (well, not-really-so-old) bike:  Tosca, my Mercian fixie.  A while back, I sent her for a repair and to change the threadless steerer to a threaded one so I could use a prettier stem. All of that, of course, meant, Tosca got a facelift--a refinish.



Previously, she was coated entirely with Mercian's "flip-flop" finish (#57)--which Arielle, my Mercian Audax, still has---and white pinstriping.  I wasn't tired of it, but I decided that while I wanted to keep all of my Mercians in the same color "family", I didn't want them to look the same.

So I had Tosca re-finished in Mercian's Purple Polychromatic (#9) with head tube and seat panel in Dusky Pink Pearl (#49).  The cut-outs in the lugs and fork crown are also finished in that dusky pink hue, and the lugs are outlined in white.

Most of the parts were on the bike before the re-paint.  The exceptions are the stem, brakes, saddle, toe clips and chain (which I would have replaced at some point anyway).  Here's the "spec sheet":

Frame and fork--Reynolds 631.  Threaded steerer.

--Steering:

• Chris King headet:  This threadless set was overhauled by Mercian and was converted with King's threaded 2Nut adapter.
• Nitto Pearl Stem, 12 cm.
• Nitto Model 177 "Noodle" handlebars

--Seating:

• Brooks Team Professional Special Edition (L'eroica 2015)
• Nitto "Crystal Fellow" Seat post

--Wheels:

• Phil Wood hubs.  "Flip-flop" (fixed-free) 36 hole rear, high-flange track 32 hole front
• Mavic Open Pro rims, Velox rim tape
• DT Champion spokes
• Continental Grand Prix 4 season tires

--Drivetrain:

• Sugino RD 2 cranks (130mm BCD), 170mm, with All-City 47T chainring (1/8")
• Phil Wood bottom bracket, 103mm
• MKS Urban Platform pedals w/MKS "basket" toe clips and Velo Orange Grand Cru straps
• Phil Wood stainless cog, 17T, 1/8"
• Shimano freewheel, 18T
• SRAM PC-7X chain 

--Brakes:

• Dia Compe BRS 101 in gold (I couldn't resist) w/ Kool Stop salmon pads
• Cane Creek SCR-5 levers

--Other Items:

• Newbaum's Cloth tape, Eggplant, w/Rustines (like Velox) plugs
• Andrew King "Iris" stainless steel cages

(The bag is one of several I use that were made by Ely Rodriguez, of Ruth Works.  I move them around among my bikes, as I need them.)

Welcome back, Tosca!

Meet Mr. Bicycle of Harrisburg

I can't begin to count how many times I've seen people riding bikes with quick release levers that were twisted shut without engaging the cam.  Or racks, fenders or other accessories or parts that were just a bump away from falling off the bike--or into the wheel. Or, worse yet (for anyone who's not riding on a velodrome), brakes that are improperly set up or adjusted.

Now I've seen all sorts of other problems on peoples' bikes, such as rusty chains and soft or flat tires.  But the other problems I've mentioned can result in accidents and injuries.

Ross Willard understands this.  About 15 years ago, when the retired railroad executive was volunteering with a food program, he noticed children riding bicycles with brakes that didn't work.  The Harrisburg, Pennsylvania resident then started to fix bikes on street corners, at community events and in other venues, using tools he kept in the back seat of his car.

Ross Willard

That toolbox in which he kept his wares became "a bigger toolbox", then "the van, the trailer and the warehouse".  The enterprise he couldn't contain would become Recycle Bicycle Harrisburg, which opened its first shop ten years ago.  He, the founder, still serves as its "chief mechanical officer."  And he operates a bicycle collection point, repair facility and teaching center for repair and maintenance.  

Recycle Bicycle Harrisburg has a "do it yourself" philosophy, according to Willard. There is no charge for any repair, or even a bike, but visitors (except for very young children) are expected to make their own repairs, with the assistance of volunteers.  And people can take bikes in exchange for helping with repairs or other shop work.

He sees an irony in all of this. "In a sense, it's socialism," he says.  "I don't own the bikes....the people own the bikes."  That ethos, however, developed out of a sense of personal responsibility bordering on libertarianism that was inculcated in him by his parents.  "If you see something that needs to be done, don't call the government.  Go fix it," he says.  "And that's what we do."

He started fixing bikes for kids because he saw how important they are to young peoples' sense of well-being.  "The bicycle is freedom," he explains.  "The kids need bikes to see the world." 

The same could be said for adults and bicycles.  In particular, Willard's organization has another "target audience" in addition to children:  residents of halfway houses.  A prison guard from Willard's church told him about the needs of those recently released from jail and prison.  Among them is transportation--to and from job interviews, work, group meetings and other required programs.  Most cannot afford a car; even those who can might have trouble paying for gas and insurance.  Also, "if you give them a car and the computer dies, they have gpt to pay somebody" to fix it, Willard notes.  But they can bring their bikes to Willard's shop as necessary.

Recycle Bicycle Harrisburg also provides other valuable resources for halfway house residents.  For one thing, they can perform their prescribed community service by volunteering in the shop.  And for those who are trying to build up their resumes, that work counts as experience.  And Willard is willing to provide them with a reference, which nearly all of them need. 

On top of everything else, the halfway house residents experience, like the rest of us, freedom while riding a bicycle--though they, having been incarcerated, might feel it even more intensely.  Also, for some of them, daily or several-times-a-week bike rides are the first regular exercise they've had for years, or ever.

For what he has brought to his community, parolees, kids and other residents of Harrisburg have affectionately dubbed him "Mr. Bicycle".

Carrying The Wrench For Her Husband

About three weeks ago, I wrote, in passing, about my days as a bike mechanic. I mentioned, among other things, that during the time I worked in bike shops, I knew of no female mechanics and that all of the female bike shop employees I knew about were salespeople.

These days, slowly but steadily increasing numbers of (mostly young) women are donning shop aprons and picking up wrenches.  Some are no doubt encouraged by women-only bike repair classes offered by Recycle A Bicycle and other cooperatives, as well as a few bike shops and other cycling-related organizations.  Also, as I mentioned in my post, Quality Bicycle Products is co-sponsoring scholarships for women to attend the two-week Professional Repair and Shop Operations classes at the United Bicycle Institute.

Najia al-Natour is not likely to attend such classes.  Then again, she doesn't need to: She had a "pro" as a teacher.  In fact, she was married to him.

The 73-year-old Palestinian used to work alongside her husband in front of the house they shared.  He died 12 years ago, leaving her as the sole breadwinner for her family.  Given that there aren't many options available for residents of the Balata refugee camp, where she now lives, and that many residents of the camp and its surrounding area get around on bikes in various states of disrepair, it made sense for her to continue in her husband's profession, despite some opposition.

According to the article I read about her, that opposition came from her children and grandchildren.  I assume that it had something to do with her age, though it may also have to do with her doing a "man's" job.  Whatever the reasons for their, or anyone else's, objections, she doesn't care:  She is proud of her job, she says.

As well she should be.

Do They Teach That In The Academy?

If you head to Tampa from Daytona Beach, you will most likely pass through a city called Lakeland.  

I have to admit that I'd never heard of it until my parents moved to Florida.  Then it became a name on the weather map of the local television newscasts:  The temperature in Lakeland would be shown, along with those of Winter Haven, Titusville, Daytona Beach and a few other locales in the middle of the Sunshine State.

Since then, I've learned that the headquarters of Publix, one of the largest regional supermarket chains, is in Lakeland. (If you've spend any amount of time in Florida, you've almost certainly shopped in a Publix store.)  I have also learned another interesting fact about the city:  The canine unit of its local police department is regarded as one of the best in the United States.  One of its dogs, Nox, took first place in the annual USPCA Police Dog Trials (the largest event of its kind), while another one of its police pooches--Bruno--won the event in 2012 and 2013

Knowing about their canine unit got me to wondering how the police officers themselves are trained.  Something told me that their training must be pretty good . After all, studies have confirmed something I've always suspected:  Developing a rapport with an animal helps people in their relationships with other people.  Now, I realize that a police officer doesn't have the same sort of relationship with a German Shepherd in the unit as a civilian has with a pet poodle.  But I think that the ability to communicate with an animal requires intuition, which is certainly useful in human relations.

I got to thinking about those things when I came across a story about a police officer in Lakeland who helped a little girl fix her bicycle chain.  Items like that catch my eye, in part, because you would never see them in New York Metro Area media.  Also, according to the story, the girl calmed down from the temper tantrum she lapsed into when her bike chain jumped off its sprocket.  That's not a reaction one normally associates with seeing police lights flashing here in New York, especially if one is a member of a marginalized community.

I couldn't help but to wonder whether her reaction--and, for that matter, the fact that Shane Stinson stopped to help the girl--was a result of training, Officer Stinson's personal qualities or the community's relations with the police (which are probably a result of those other two factors), or some combination of them.

Whatever the answer, Officer Shane Stinson of the Lakeland, FL Police Department should be commended.

It also has me thinking about whether they should teach bicycle repair in police academies--and elementary schools!

Fixer Cat

Were you one of those kids who always wanted to help his or her mother or father when they were cooking, cleaning, fixing or making things?

Do you have a kid like that?  Or does your kid like to "supervise"?  Maybe you were that kind of kid.

What about your pets?  How do they behave when you're maintaining, repairing or building your bikes?

Marlee and Max, my feline housemates, like to poke their noses in whatever I'm doing.  I've tried to teach them how to do basic stuff, like fixing flats, oiling chains, chopping garlic and grading students' papers. But they always have the same excuse:  "We don't have opposable thumbs!"

That's all right.  I am convinced that they are good luck.

I think this one would agree!

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.

WE BIKE at Smorgasburg

Yesterday I promised to tell you about the event where I saw the Pashley Mailstar, which is used by the "posties" of Royal Mail in the UK.

Liz (R) showing two cyclists how to repair an innertube.

Liz Jose, the founder and president of WE Bike (Women Empowered through Bicycles) used the bike to transport a table tools and various WE Bike schwag to a repair workshop/recruitment drive held at Smorgasburg in Brooklyn.  

We volunteered our own bikes for "the cause"!

Actually, some might argue it wasn't a full-blown repair shop.  What we did was to teach some female cyclists (and, in a few cases, men who accompanied them) how to fix flats.  If a cyclist--especially a female rider-- learns to do only one repair, this should be the one.  If nothing else, knowing this basic skill can keep you from getting stranded.

Erin (facing to the side), Shelley (in pink t-shirt) and Liz (seated).

The fear of getting stranded by a deflated tire, and not knowing how to fix it, is one of the most common reasons why people won't take longer rides or use their bikes for transportation.  I think this fear is greater among female cyclists, for we (well, many of us, anyway) have more reason to fear for our safety if we are stuck in the middle of an unfamiliar or unsafe area by ourselves.  Also, I think that many women have been taught, implicitly or explicitly, to distrust their own abilities to fix even very basic things, not to mention to be self-sufficient in any number of other ways.  

Having been raised as male, I wasn't inculcated with that same distrust of my abilities.  Of course, I did not understand that until I started the transition that has culminated in living in the female gender of my mind and spirit.  I suppose that, in addition to some skills that I possess, that self-confidence might be what I can offer the women and girls who join and ride with WE Bike.

I hope that doesn't sound condescending, or as if I'm some well-intentioned  but misguided do-gooder.  I have been known to do things at least partially for altruistic reasons, and I can say that joining WE Bike is one of those things.  But the most important reason why I've decided to involve myself with it is that, since my transition, I've come to feel out of place in both the formal and impromptu men's cycling groups in which I've participated.  Even the so-called co-ed groups are dominated by males.  Not that I have anything against them:  I simply feel that I want and need other things now, as my motivations for (and, most likely, style of ) riding have changed.

Plus, so far, I'm enjoying the company of the women in WE Bike.  Isn't that the real reason to be involved with any group, whether or not it's formally organized?

As for the dilemma I faced: I managed to look presentable enough, I suppose, for the writing workshop.  I don't know whether anybody there noticed, but I was wearing a cardigan/jacket over the sundress in which I rode to the workshop--and to the WE Bike workshop.  But once I got to the latter event, I covered the top of my dress with something else:

I'd say that the fit might've been a bit snug, but the color worked!  And somehow I managed not to smudge the T-shirt or sundress in spite of the grease and dirt on my hands!

WE Bike And Me

What's gotten into me? 

I mean, what's this with me and volunteering?

It's not as if I haven't volunteered before.  But within the past two weeks, I've begun volunteering with two cycling organizations.  And--quelle coincidence--it turns out that they're going to be working with each other.

I've mentioned my recent experiences with Recycle-A-Bicycle.  I intend to continue working with them as my schedule allows.  It looks like I'll be doing the same--and perhaps more--with a new organization called WE Bike.

I learned of them at the New Amsterdam Bicycle Show, where they had a booth.  Liz, a bike mechanic and youth educator who started the organization only a couple of months ago was at the booth.  And she was under the arches of Grand Army Plaza yesterday, where WE Bike was holding a repair workshop.  

She immediately recognized me.  I didn't think I was so memorable.  Even more interestingly, she mentioned my blog and my Mercians.  Hmm...It's not often that my reputation precedes me.  Is that a good thing?

Anyway, I got there a bit late.  But I went to work right away, showing a woman from the Caribbean island of Dominique how to fix a flat.  She had just purchased her first bicycle, not long after learning how to ride a bicycle as an adult.  

Yesterday, I thought she was mastering what I believe to be the first thing every cyclist should learn to do.  But she apologized.  For what?, I asked.  Then I realized she was doing something I've seen many other women do--and which I've caught myself doing since I started to live as a woman:  apologizing for no particular reason.

"You are officially in a guilt-free zone," I declared. "This circle around me"--I stretched my arms--"is off-limits for gratuitous guilt."  At first, she didn't know what to make of what I said--or, I imagine, me. But then she giggled.  "Don't worry," I said, "You'll be fine."

I was thinking about her as Liz and I talked after the workshop.  We agreed that getting more women to ride, with other women, and learning how to fix their bikes from other women, could help some--especially the young--build their confidence.  Plus, I added, it would help them become more independent. 

Then I thought about my own experiences of working in bike shops.  I don't recall seeing a female mechanic and, in those days, it seemed a lot of shops--including two in which I worked--had a "shop girl" who usually was a salesperson/cashier/hostess/Gal Friday. (I hope I don't seem sexist in using those terms:  I can't think of any others that would accurately describe those roles.)  In other shops--including one in which I worked-- such jobs, along with record-keeping and such, were done by the proprietor's wife.

In recounting those experiences for Liz, I fancied myself, for a moment, as a kind of Prometheus.  Please indulge me if it seems a bit grandiose, but I realized that when I was showing two women how to remove bottom brackets and headsets, and how to true wheels, at Recycle-A-Bicycle, I was passing along knowledge that, in my day, was possessed almost entirely by males.  And I probably wouldn't have learned those skills had I not spent the first four decades of my life as a male.

Or, perhaps--here comes the baggage of my Catholic education!--I am doing penance for all of those times I was one of those awful men who spoke condescendingly to female customers and who was less than helpful with girlfriends who actually wanted to ride bikes with me.  If the work I am doing, and expect to do, is a penance, I suppose I'm lucky:  There are definitely worse and more painful kinds of atonement!

Anyway...I have a feeling that interesting times are ahead for me.