They Couldn't Keep It Clean

When I worked in bike shops, customers brought in bikes with problems I couldn't have imagined.

Note:  "Mudguards" are, to the British, what we Americans call "fenders."

Sound Repairs

If a restaurant doesn't post its prices on its menu, I probably can't afford it.  

I learned that lesson the hard way on my first trip to Europe.  On a wonderful day of riding through the Loire Valley, I was ready for a nice meal.  So I stopped at an utterly charming restaurant where the staff were oh-so-friendly and attractive and the food was even better than I dreamed they'd be.  I would have enjoyed the meal and the ambience, I think, even if I hadn't been hungry and spent the day pedaling.

I was in Nirvana or paradise or whatever you want to call it...until I got the check.  That meal didn't cost much less than my budget for a whole week!  At least I didn't have to worry about a tip:  In France, that's included (service compris). 

Now, I must say that the rule about menu prices doesn't necessarily apply to bicycle shops.  Some post "menus" of repair prices.  Of the shops in which I worked, none followed the practice.  The reason was that, very often, repairs turn out to be more complicated than they seemed at first glance:  The flat tire might have been caused by protruding spokes, which means re-truing or re-building a wheel (or even replacing it) rather than simply installing a new inner tube.  Or that creak or other noise might come from a crack in a frame tube caused by a fall that the rider might not have given a second thought because he or she rode home after it.

(I can honestly say that, in spite of the fact they didn't post "menus", none of those shops charged more than others in their area for repairs.  Two of them, however, advertised "tune up specials" where, for a fixed price, cables were replaced, bearings and chains lubed and adjustments were made.)

I got to thinking about "menu" pricing after I came across this:

Imagine if we could determine what needed to be done, and what it would cost, simply by listening!   For all I know, at least one mechanic with whom I worked may have been doing that:  He used to work with a stethoscope hanging from his neck!  Then again, he took substances that may or may not have been legal at the time, so he may have heard things I never would have.

Now It's Vera's Turn

It's getting to be a habit for me...

I've stripped another one of my bikes.

My latest "victim" is Vera, my green Miss Mercian mixte.

Like Helene, the last bike I stripped, Vera is going away.

But fear not...she'll come back.

I'm sending her on this trip as a kind of reward, a spa treatment.  She's been good to me.  Now she's going to get some TLC.

You see, I've been riding her with a shim in the seat lug.  I think someone tried to jam a 27.2mm diameter seatpost into the frame, which takes a 27.0.  So I'm having that fixed.

Also, the cable guides are going to be replaced with shifter bosses--which can also be used for those bolt-on cable guides used with "brifters", in case I ever decide to install handlebar end shifters.  But, for the foreseeable future, I'm going to use down-tube shifters, which I ride on all of my geared bikes.

And, finally, her new finish will make her more like the rest of the family.   She won't be painted the "flip-flop" purple/green (#57) of Arielle and Tosca, the Mercians I have now. Nor will she be adorned with the Lilac Polychromatic (#17) paint and Deep Plum Pearl (#56) headtube and seat tube panel I've requested for the Vincitore Special I ordered.     

Instead, I'm ordering Mauve Pearl (#53), without any panels or bands:  It's hard to do those on a mixte, especially one with twin laterals, without cluttering the frame.

Vera deserves the treatment.  Also, I think seeing her renovated will be a kind of appetizer for the Vincitore Special.

Some Repair Techniques Never Change

The blue Schwinn Varsity, circa 1976, looked like others I'd seen.  That is, until I turned the corner. 

When I worked in bike shops, I saw some strange, interesting and unusual "repairs" customers had done themselves.  Most of the time, I could see what they were trying to fix.

But on the blue Varsity I saw today, I had to wonder.  At first, I thought the tape was an attempt to repair a flat. That's what it probably was indeed.  

However, I also couldn't help but to ask myself, rhetorically, whether the person actually rode the bike with the tape wrapped around the rim.  After all, I could only imagine what that tape did to the braking.

Also, I found myself thinking about the time a customer brought in a bike because the front wheel was "bumping" as he rode.  I realized that he meant "thumping" after I saw the tape wrapped around his tire and rim, much as it was on the Varsity I saw today.

The man begged me not to unwrap the tape--duct tape, to be exact.  I explained that I couldn't replace his tube--which he almost certainly needed--or his tire (probably needed) unless I could remove them.

"But that'll ruin the wheel!", he exclaimed.

Of course, I removed the tape and saw a crack along the surface of the rim, nearly from one tire bead to the next.  Probably the only reason the rim hadn't broken was that the cracks didn't begin or end at a spoke hole:  It'd cracked along the smooth, solid area of the rim.

Before that day, I knew that all sorts of things could be held together with duct tape.  But, until that moment, I'd never seen a bicycle rim fixed that way.

At that moment, Frank, the owner of Highland Park Cyclery walked by and made it clear to the man that if we could not replace his wheel (It wouldn't have been worth rebuilding with a new rim), tire and tube, we would not work on his bike.  

The man grabbed his bike and, with a huff, pushed it out of the shop.

You guessed what he did when he got out onto the sidewalk:  He wrapped duct tape (He'd had a roll in his bag!) around the cracked rim and tire.  



 

How Routine Was This Repair?

Have you ever felt yourself just slogging and grinding your way on your bike for no discernible reason?  Then you realize your rear tire was slowly losing air.  Or your chain needed oil even more than the salad everyone thought was dry and lifeless.  Or that some part or another was out of alignment or adjustment.

I had such an experience on Thursday.  I wasn’t feeling very well, but I thought I could shake my lethargy by going on a ride, however short.  I started in a direction that could take me to Coney Island or the Canarsie Pier; either would have been a manageable distance and, if I needed to do so, I could take the subway home.

As I approached the Pulaski Bridge, I found myself making a left turn Jackson Avenue, then Thomson Avenue, which meant Canarsie was in the cards.  It was the sort of not-quite-conscious decision I often make on rides.  That was fine; I hadn’t gone that way in a while.  Tosca seemed to be rolling along fine through the industrial area of Long Island City and Maspeth, the now-Polish and Albanian enclaves of Ridgewood and some almost-suburban stretches of Glendale.  

Then, after descending the hill from a cemetery in Queens to another in Brooklyn, I started to feel like a paraplegic grasshopper pedaling in syrup.  I glanced down at the bike. Nothing seemed wrong.  Must be the engine, not the chassis, I thought.  In other words, I thought perhaps I was less well or in worse shape than I suspected.

Just after crossing Atlantic Avenue, I realized that the human machinery, however out-of-tune, was not to blame.  I saw the telltale sag in my rear tire. So, I did what I often do when I don’t hear a pop or a hiss:  I pumped the tire, figuring I could pedal the rest of the way to the pier and, if necessary, fix the problem there.

The plan almost worked.  I got to a flea market about three-quarters of the way to the pier.   I wended through aisles of polyester sundresses in screaming hues that make “billboard” jerseys seem as if they were designed by Brooks Brothers  (I’ve never seen a man who actually looks good in one!), electronic equipment that was discarded before the guys trying to sell it were born, CDs of bands you’ve never heard of or don’t want to hear again, and all matter of the most cheaply-made watches, appliances and accessories imaginable.  Of course, I didn’t buy anything.  But I had to pump my tire again:  It had lost about half of its pressure.

The air was just barely enough to get me to the Pier.  Then I pumped the tire to hear a hiss growing more insistent.  Turns out, a small hole in the tire’s sidewall was opening. 

I knew there was no point to fixing it:  No patch would be strong enough to keep the tube from blowing out like a bubble from a piece of gum.  So, I took the L train back.  Oh well.

After replacing the tire and tube, I took Tosca out on the same route yesterday.  Now I was riding the bike I’d always loved.  And I felt better.

And yesterday’s ride—Point Lookout, again—on Arielle felt even better.  In fact, it was nearly perfect: About the only time I noticed Arielle (I hope she doesn’t feel rejected) was when I shifted or braked.  The rest of the time, I felt as if I were sailing the air under the cloudless sky on a day that could hardly have felt more like the first of summer. 

I did nothing to maintain or adjust Arielle before the ride.  But somehow I felt I was still riding a wave, if you will, from replacing the tire on Tosca. 

What sorts of routine maintenance and repair make the most difference in the way your bikes ride?

Preparing For Sandy

So...The National Weather Service says we're about to get hit with the "storm of the century."  

To be fair, the NWS says Hurricane/Tropical Storm Sandy is doing things no other storm has done. Still, after the dire warnings we got about Hurricane Irene last year, I, like many other New Yorkers, are skeptical.


Still, I'm getting ready.   You know. flashlights, non-perishable foods...and my allen keys.  And screwdrivers.  And cable tensioners and cutters.  And, yes, chocolate!

Then, after I finish working on my bikes, I'll read some papers.  I've got time:   The college will be closed tomorrow!