Did I mention it was a dead end street? My house was at the end, of course. The whole world (so it seemed at the time) was on the other side of that muck. Getting out meant dealing with it. Once around the corner the rest of the town roads were paved. But to leave my driveway I had to cross a bog. My tires clogged with mud so bad I couldn't peddle. Did I mention I was a runt and stick of a kid to begin with? Did I need such another handicap?
But when ya wanna ride ya do what ya gotta do. Find a stick to dig out the mud. Better yet, find a hose. Of course that meant cleaning the bike more often than most kids probably felt motivated to do. Cleaning mud out of the chain. Oiling the chain. Learning to clean and repack all the bearings eventually. Crankset, headset, front and rear wheels. Seriously, what's a curious child to do? Once you have the rear wheel off to open its axle the coaster brake shims fall on the garage floor. So ya figure out how that works. Lots of learning. Good stuff. The kinda trouble kids should get into.
"Take chances, make mistakes, get messy."
--Ms. Frizzle
Turns out I liked working on bikes as much as riding them. To this guy they were machines that could be taken apart and put back together. Not only could they be serviced and repaired, sometimes they needed it. Of course fixing is the gateway to modifying. You realize parts can be interchanged. Different size sprockets change the gearing. Particularly import on a single speed bike. Sometimes that means you have to shorten or lengthen the chain. So ya learn to do that as well. All good, dirty fun.
Of course I made messes in the garage. So I learned to be responsible about that (eventually). Clean up when finished (usually). Put tools back where they belong (ideally). I recall spending some allowance money on wrenches at Kmart of all places. Having my own tools made me feel so grown up at the time. All these years (ahem, decades) later I still have some of those Kmart wrenches in my toolbox. They proved surprisingly durable. Whodathunkit.
Besides my own I also worked on the bikes of other kids in the neighborhood. I even had my own my own shop at one point. It was just an old shed in the back corner of my yard. I cleaned it out. Pounded a bunch of nails in the walls to hang up and organize all the parts I accumulated. I had torn down many different bikes. Most were junkers. Some from family or friends. Some I bartered from other kids in town who had their own parts stash. I don't remember how old I was then. Let's say tenish. Early entrepreneur? I don't recall any money ever changing hands. No profit. I just worked on bikes. I liked it.
I was mostly into BMX bikes for some time. We even built a track and organized some races in my home town. Being a late bloomer my growth spurt was correspondingly delayed. But alas, I eventually outgrew the 20" bikes of childhood and graduated into adolescence with a 26" ten speed. I took it with me to college to get around campus. There I met other students who did long distance, overnight tours on their bikes. I got inspired and upgraded to a 27" twelve speed touring bike. Ideas can be troublesome. The good kind. Of course.
Once properly equipped I went on a few long adventures. My first bicycle trek was about 750 miles. All within MI from Houghton to Lake City and back. Later, 400 miles between Duluth, MN and Thunder Bay, Ontario. After college I peddled 850 miles from Peoria, IL to Cape Giradeau, MO and home again. All those trips while schlepping my own food, water and camping gear. Good times. I still have that touring bike. It's stored at my house in MA. Along with a folding bike that I bought from a coworker my last year working in MA. I had that folding bike during my first year of full time RVing but rarely used it.
Mistake? Or learning experience?
One type of bicycle I'd long wanted but never got around to getting was a mountain bike. I kept thinking someday. Maybe. As these things go in life, years turned into decades. Someday never came. But in the back of my mind some part still believed. Maybe I'd still get a mountain bike. Someday. Maybe.
Meanwhile, in another part of my mind there's long been a part of me that embraces reduce, reuse, recycle. I like breathing new life into worn out, broken down, rusty ole stuff. Well, this winter the Universe finally granted my wish. At the refuge where I'm resident volunteering they had a boneyard. It was littered with carcasses of appliances, machinery, BBQ grills, lawn mowers. Basically, all things metallic and/or mechanical that could be recycled. Meaning probably melted down eventually.
Kinda sad in a way.
Yet kinda cool in another.
Most importantly, for this post, the refuge boneyard contained a number of bicycles. Now I was a priori sensitive about something. I was not interested in government property. I was not interested in lost and found visitor property. What I was interested in was junk. Abandoned property. Ideally, bikes left by proper staff (interns mostly). They generally got a cheap used bike (from a local pawn shop, garage sale, flea market, etc) to get around the refuge during their term. Disposable - not unlike the Island Of Misfit Toys. There was a pile of bikes just rotting away.
Knock, Knock
--Opportunity
So I harvested body parts from a boneyard littered with a number of decaying bicycle carcasses. Starting with the most promising frame. It was aluminum and scuffed up a bit. Yet its black, silver, white and yellow color scheme appealed to my eyes. Of course every single bearing was either froze up or almost. Headset, crankset, both peddles, derailleurs, front and rear wheels. Even the freewheel cluster seized. However, with some PB Blaster as liniment, and sometimes aggressive physical therapy, all symptoms of rheumatoid neglectitis were healed. All bearings should be repacked sooner. Some may need replacing later. But so far so good. Doctor, we have a heartbeat. The patient was resuscitated.
It's alive!
Dr. Bob proceeded with multiple transplant surgeries pretty much head to toe. Decent tires. Tubes that held air. A usable rim strip was found amongst the cadavers. Brake levers, calipers, springs and pads. Shifters, cables and hand grips. This and that from here or there. The only purchase I had to make to turn six dead bikes into one healthy one was a new chain. It wasn't as dramatic as a lightning storm. No spark spewing knife switches were thrown by a hunchbacked assistant named Igor. Nonetheless my little re-creation was resurrected, reanimated, rehabilitated, whatever. I saved a bike. Meh. Sorry, Igor.
Every little baby step of incremental success was satisfying. A first spin around the neighborhood. Having brakes to stop quickly and safely, instead of dragging my feet like Barny Rubble. Getting the shifters working. Eventually exercising all twenty one gears. A test lap around the fifteen mile tour loop. Wahoo! Deriving gratification from a bicycle project may seem silly to some. But it's mine. I did it. I earned it. Maybe we needed each other. Good match I say.
"Let the good times roll."
--The Cars
