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.
If you park your bike has a basket on it, and you park on the street, you might find that your vehicle has been turned into a recptacle.
I've found all sorts of things in my wicker and wire porters: beer bottles, wrappers for every kind of food you can imagine, chicken bones, pizza crusts--and for a device that's named for a citizen of an ancient Greek city but won't infect your computer--as well as books and newspapers. I've even encountered articles of clothing and, yes, bike parts, most of which were unwearable or unusable.
Most of the time, it's an annoyance (except, of course, when I find a book or a newspaper), but I guess it's better than having a saddle or pedals stolen, or tires slashed. Yes, those things have also happened when I've parked my bike.
But I don't think I've ever encountered anything quite like what was deposited in the Wald front basket on my LeTour:
CDs? Hmm....Maybe it's some rare recording: Something I'd keep--or sell on eBay.
Closer inspection revealed something entirely different:
I wonder if the person who left those Yoga CDs knows me, or has seen me ride. Could there be a message?
Recently, I saw this tool in a bike shop:
The mechanic referred to it as a "smart dumbbell wrench".
My first reaction is, of course, that a "smart dumbbell" is an oxymoron. Then I remembered a tool I carried on bike rides--and sometimes even when I was off the bike--not so long ago.
This is the not-smart dumbbell wrench. Actually, given the time it was invented, it was a smart tool, as recessed allen-bolt fittings were still uncommon. As recently as the 1980's, Campagnolo's Gran Sport derailleur attached to the dropout with a hex-head bolt.
The tool was also called a "dog bone" wrench. A smart--or, at least, a modern-- dog bone wrench might be this:
I'm sure you've seen it before. I've mentioned it on this blog: the Park Tool MT-1. It now serves the purpose my old dumbbell wrench did back in the day: I even have one on my keyring.
It really is a smart tool in all sorts of ways, not the least of which are its shape and style, which makes it sleeker and much easier to carry than the old dog bone or dumbbell wrench.
Speaking of old-style wrenches: How many of you still have one of these?
If you bought a Raleigh three-speed in the 1970s or earlier, you more than likely got one of these with it. The smaller "tombstone"-shaped opening was, if I'm not mistaken, intended for installing or removing pedals, though you can't get as much leverage as I think you need, especially if you're removing a pedal that's been in the crank for a while.
Back in the day, we didn't use the term "multi-tool". Nobody believed that a spanner (or wrench to you Yanks) could be made to handle everything short of a full bike assembly, contrary to what some multi-tool designers of today seem to think. We usually carried a small adjustable wrench or a small spanner with 8 and 10 millimeter heads, 6 and 7mm allen keys and a few other things, depending on how long we intended to ride and how far we planned to be from our favorite bike shops.
That way of thinking, I believe, gave rise to mini toolkits, like this one:
If you bought a Peugeot before the late 1970s, you got one of these Mafac tool kits with it. They were pretty smart, actually, given the bikes and components of the time. About ten years ago, you could get one for practically nothing. Today, with all the collectors and others who are doing "period" restorations, and those who are building nouveau retro, if you will, bikes, those kits are fetching decent money. Just recently, someone sold eight new-old-stock kits with the brown pouch (instead of the black one shown) for $39.00 each.
Are they smarter than the dumbbell wrench? That depends...
Note: Some Gitane bikes came with the Mafac kit in a bag shaped like the Mafac but with softer material and printed with Gitane's logo:
