On the Personalities of Old Bikes

Having worked on a few now, it has become pretty obvious that old bikes all have unique personalities. Sure, I know a mass of metal and rubber isn't really sentient, but there's something in each old bike that perhaps brings out different aspects of my own personality. For instance, my Columbia, the bike that started this blog, is like an old friend. I know him inside and out, and whenever a problem crops up, I'm happy to do what I can to help. We go out and have fun together, but we're also just happy hanging out. He's sturdy and reliable, and just an all around great guy.

My Peugeot, on the other hand, is kind of an ass (he is French, after all--apologies to the French). He has dramatic problems that confuse me, and he refuses to let me in on his deepest secrets. There are parts of him that I just don't have access to, and that, frankly, scare me. But man, if I ever want to just get out there and go, he's always right there with me. And he's stylish, too, like a fast car or a well-bred horse. But sheesh, is he ever high-maintenance. We may someday have to go see a professional together.

My wife's Schwinn is like a good acquaintance. We've hung out a few times, shot the breeze, and what-have-you, but we're not close. I check in from time to time, just to make sure everything is going okay, and we've been known to double-date on small outings. She's nice, and she lets me know if she needs anything, but we're not real tight.

The Runwell, who I'm still getting to know, is like one of those people you meet and they immediately let you in to their confidence. He's open, honest, and not ashamed of his flaws. He's a pretty simple guy, not overly complicated, and you get the sense that he's a real no-nonsense kind of fellow. But you can also tell that he's really good to his friends, and if you put yourself out there for him, he'll come through in a big way.

I know this is all just a little silly and romantic, but it speaks to the good effects of working on old bikes. I think what you get out of it is ultimately more than just a nice ride or a new set of mechanical skills; perhaps you also get a better sense of yourself, a deeper sort of patience with others, and a repertoire of experience that you can carry into other aspects of your life. For all the other benefits of riding old, perhaps these are the most significant.

1930s "Lifetime Elgin" Poster

I picked up this old advert (not a poster, really, but a leaf from a magazine) yesterday at one of our local shops, Paper Antiquities. The store is amazing, and the owner is very friendly. If you're ever in San Diego, check them out.

I love the visual style of the ad, and I even borrowed a bit for the new banner head for the blog, which I think turned out wonderfully. But it was the text that really won me over:

On city streets or country roads the Lifetime ELGIN is the popular choice of boys and men the country over. Its smooth, easy action gives a new sense of freedom, of speed, of luxurious pleasure. You'll revel in the convenience of its appointments and admire the sturdiness of its construction. Whether commuting to and from work, going to school, using it for business or for purposes of recreation, you'll find the LIFETIME ELGIN an efficient, dependable and less-tiring means of transportation. As a value it is beyond compare.

I've never ridden an Elgin before (it was the pre-WWII Sears, Roebuck and Company make, replaced after the war by J.C. Higgins), but this description makes me want to. It's the utilitarian aspect of the description that I like so much--recreation is literally the last use they mention. The emphasis is on "sturdiness" and on using the bicycle as transportation, which is a realization we're only just now making again. However, for those who would romanticize an earlier era, on the back is an ad for Allstate automobile tires, so it wasn't all "luxurious" bicycling pleasure and apple-cheeked lads on bikes in those days. Still pretty neat, though.

That Must Be Heavy!

Those of us who ride old bikes are used to hearing this phrase, frequently spoken by spandex-clad "scorchers" (as they used to call speeding cyclists) nodding derisively at our old three-speeds or cruisers. I usually say, cheerfully, "Yup!" and toodle off down the street on my "clunker." Well, if it makes you feel any better, here's a quote from School Recreations and Amusements (1896) that advocates, quite sensibly, a heavier bike:

Except for track riding or racing, do not make the mistake of getting too light a machine. The wheel that is to stand the roughness of country roads and the unevenness of city pavements, that is to be solid, reliable, and trustworthy in all conditions, must have some weight. For road work, twenty-four to twenty-eight pounds is a convenient weight.

The volume (the title of which does a disservice to its contents) also goes on to say:

The common rule of life seems to be hurry and rush, making work (and hard work) even out of our pleasures; but in the case of bicycle trips for pleasure, no course could be more unwise. Do not attempt to make so many miles a day. Stop when you like. Enjoy all that you can in the way of natural scenery or observations of life, and thus store up a host of pleasant recollections for after years.

Good advice in 1896, good advice now. Read the rest at Google Books.

Old Bikes Around the World

In most parts of the world, old bicycles are more than just a novelty or a hobby--they're a way of life. Old bicycles, many of which have already seen decades of use, are still used and maintained by people everywhere who can't afford to buy new bicycles, scooters, or cars.

Jakarta, Indonesia

Photo by Jonathan McIntosh

Like the fellow in Africa who made his own bicycle-mounted radio and earns money taxiing villagers over unpaved roads, there are thousands of others who use, reuse, and innovate old bicycles as everyday transportation.

Kolkata, India

Photo by Basia Kruszewska

In many cases, their livelihoods depend on being mobile, and old bikes are the only way for them to get around. As more folks in the industrial world fall upon hard times, the same "keep it running" ethic that has kept old bikes rolling in so-called "developing" nations must be adopted here--not only for bicycles, but for everything we use every day.

Bicycle Repair Shop in La Antigua, Guatemala

Photo by Rudy Giron

It's time--past time, really--to unlearn the "newer is better" mentality so many of us have grown up with. If we're going to learn to do more with less (and we will most certainly have to), we're going to need to turn away from brand-new retail shops and toward our garages, local yard sales, and thrift shops. Just like most of the world already knows, there are a whole bunch of very serviceable old bicycles out there (and everything else) just waiting to be used again.

What? A Relief!

Putting the Wald rear rack/baskets on the Columbia marked the last major task associated with the bikes in my stable (for a while, knock wood), and I must say, I'm incredibly relieved. If you follow this blog, you know that I've been working on at least one project now since July 2015. First, the Runwell, then a short break, then the Huffeigh, then recently the Schwinn, with the Mundo thrown in there in the middle (the Mundo is still a project, but a very slow one, so I don't count that).

As much as I really do enjoy doing refurbishment or restoration work, I also get tired of never having things finished. I'm really looking forward now to actually riding all of my bikes, rather than fiddling with bearings, hubs, spokes, paint, etc.

On that note, I'm announcing a slight change in the direction of the blog. There are three words in the masthead of my blog: "Recycle, Refurbish, Ride!" I've focused a lot on the first two, and now I'd like to focus more on the third, which I think is just as signficant. It's easy when you're working on old bikes to get caught up in what I call the "fetishization" of all of the little bits, while forgetting the actual point of the whole endeavor, which is to RIDE THE BIKE!

I believe it is important to show that refurbished or restored old bikes can and should be ridden, not just polished up, tucked away in a garage, and trotted out for a ride down the block now and again. Old bikes should not just be toys for grownups to play with, they should be real working machines, as they were intended. My task now is going to be to show my old bikes in everyday use: grocery runs, commuting, a jaunt to the post office, a picnic in the park, whatever. I don't have a "modern" bike to ride (the youngest bike we own is my wife's Schwinn Suburban, which is a 1977) so everything I do by bike is done on an old bike.

The point is, you can live a bicycle lifestyle without spending a ton of cash and riding some carbon fiber monstrosity. I've never paid more than $100 for a bicycle (excluding parts), and don't intend to anytime soon. All it takes is a willingness to learn some new skills, the time to invest in the work, and a large dose of patience. What you're left with is not only the gratification of a finished product, but also a perfectly sound, functional bicycle (or five).

Why This Blog Exists, Redux

On my post a while back, Chic Cyclist (whose blog I enjoy) makes the comment:

I love my old bikes. I ride my old bikes. For several bikes that means changing out some of the old bits for newer technology. There are people who get very upset about this...a subculture who idealizes the "old". I'm personally all for durable technology, which may end up being a mish-mash of parts. What is your position on historical accuracy in maintaining old bikes?

That's a fantastic question, and one I've sort of side-stepped up until now. As far as I'm concerned, old bikes generally have two purposes: 1) as working machines, and 2) as artifacts of bicycle history. There are some bikes that can serve both purposes simultaneously, but I do not believe that every old bike has to serve both. There are plenty of bicycle museums and plenty of people who go a little nuts over "authenticity" when restoring their old bikes, and I think that's great. More power to them.

But this blog isn't for them. It's about making and keeping old bikes usable. It's about haunting garage sales and thrift stores and friends' garages, sheds, and barns for your next bike, rather than a) going to Sprawl-Mart for a $99.99 Huffy or b) going to an up-scale bike shop and spending $1,500 on the trendiest, latest-model racing bike. In order to make that old garage sale bike safe and usable again, yeah, you're going to have to put some new parts on it. It might even be well-nigh unrecognizable after you're done, but the point is to use it again, not to lock it up in the garage and occasionally take it out in the driveway and look at it.

I think Chic Cyclist is absolutely right in characterizing durable technology as sometimes a mish-mash of parts. Naturally, some parts of that technology are going to wear out faster than others, and by all means, to keep the whole thing working, you might need to pick up a newer or (gasp!) better replacement part. For example, derailer technology didn't reach its apex in 1977, so if you want to put a newer or better derailer on your old bike, why the heck not? The purists out there probably won't, and that's cool, too. Whatever turns your crank (I was also considering "whatever shifts your gears"). The point is to keep old bikes working, use them, and enjoy them, no matter how you choose to do it.

PS--My new axle for the Peugeot arrived via UPS while I was writing this post, so more on that later.

Follow Me!

There's something about Google's blog "following" feature that cracks me up. It sounds so imperial and authoritarian. When I log in to my account each day, I'm told how many "followers" I have. Although I don't personally care how many I have, I do somehow feel a perverse desire to increase the ranks of my followers. I suppose it's my inner dictator trying to express himself. So, let's nurture that, shall we? Imagine me posturing Mussolini-like on a balcony somewhere:

Citizens! Now is the time to cast off the titanium, carbon-fiber, and aluminum shackles that have for too long bound you! Strip away the spandex and lycra uniforms that, let's be honest, never looked good on you, and don the garb of the casual cyclist. It is time once again to travel in comfort and style on machines of steel! Let us reject any crank that is not cottered! Let us praise great Sturmey-Archer hubs! Let us accept that there is some rust that just won't come off! Let us ride old bikes!

Okay, whatever. Here's the deal: if you have a Blogger or Google account, you can officially follow the OBB by clicking the new Following widget to the right. And don't worry if you're shy, you can follow publicly or anonymously.

Soon, I will have a mighty army of followers! A mighty army that travels on old bikes! A mighty slow army!

Why This Blog Exists (It's not about bikes, really)

I've been stewing about something for a couple of weeks, precipitated by a couple of things. First, a good thing: I needed my front wheel trued a while back, and my neighbor recommended Thomas Bike Shop in South Park. I found their address online and a few good reviews on Yelp, so one afternoon, I took the wheel off my bike and walked it down there, expecting to leave it, as I have had to do in the past at a different local bike shop. It was a pleasant walk through a nice neighborhood, and I like to walk as much as I like to ride, so it was no big deal. Plus, it gave me the afternoon off from work.

There were two folks in the shop when I arrived, and they immediately put my wheel on the truing stand and told me it would be about ten minutes. Well, ten minutes turned into about half an hour as we talked about everything from spoke design to the history of the shop (with lots about old bikes in between). Thomas Bikes has been around for something like 100 years, and the current owner has photos of the original shop from just after the turn of the century. The last four digits of their phone number are the same as they were when the shop's original number was issued back in dickety-aught-whatever.

They're very down-to-earth there, and although you can buy a $1,500 race bike there, you can also by an old $80 Schwinn, plus all the parts and accessories you're likely to need for it. It's a small shop, run by good people who genuinely care about all bikes and riders, not just those willing to drop money on a high-end bikes. The owner asked me what kind of riding I did, and when I answered, "Well, I guess out of necessity," he answered, "Bikes for transportation, we love that, man." He also waxed about the virtues of steel vs. aluminum rims and spokes, concluding that he liked steel better. I agreed, although I don't really know anything about it. I walked away from the shop with my straightened wheel and the satisfying feeling that I had finally found my local bike shop.

The next thing that set me to thinking was the fact that I've gotten emails from several people offering to pay me to write posts about or link to their bike businesses. Well, I never intended to make any money off of this blog, and it doesn't cost me anything to run, so I don't really see why I should. What's more, the businesses that want me to do this don't really have anything to do with old bikes--bikes, yes, but not old ones.

So, here's the thing: this isn't really a blog about bikes. Really, it's about a form of what I call "durable technology," and it's about learning to maintain and repair that technology. We live in a culture that idealizes "new" and ultimately, transient, forms of technology. Since we're always after the new stuff, yesterday's new stuff quickly becomes tomorrow's junk. But bikes have pretty much been the same now for over 100 years, and they're not likely to change too much in the next 100. They're going to be around for a long time, and many of them already have. Learning how they work and how to keep them working isn't really about fetishizing the bikes themselves, it's about teaching yourself a set of skills that can be used to keep a form of durable technology working. Basically, these are the same skills that Mr. Thomas was practicing some 100 years ago when he opened his shop, and I think that's pretty cool.

So, no, I'm not going to take your money to write an article about your bike shop or post a link to your site. Or rather, if I am, it's going to be because I think you and me are simpatico on the subject of making durable technology useful again. There are all of these old bikes out there, still perfectly functional, that can be put to good use instead of going down to the local trendy bike store and dropping $1,500 on a new bike. The only things people need to get these bikes back on the road again are a few tools, some patience to learn a new set of skills, and a desire to make things work again. It's not about the bikes themselves. It's about self-sufficiency. It's about durable technology. It's about people taking back one of the most basic and revolutionary innovations of the last 150 years.

Oh, and I didn't post a link to Thomas Bike Shop because they don't have a website. Give 'em a call at (619) 232-0674 or stop by at 1635 Fern Street San Diego, CA 92101.

To Paint or Not to Paint?

Well, obviously, I've chosen the former, but in the process of researching how to paint a bike, I've come across a lot of old bike people arguing that one should NEVER re-paint an old bicycle, so I thought I would offer my thoughts on the subject. The people who argue against painting (or at least painting it yourself) seem to be the collectors and aficionados--the ones who horde bikes in the garage and periodically set them all up in the driveway to look at them. They also seem to be the ones who derive much of their self-worth from flaunting their superior knowledge on various online discussion boards.

Their argument is this: there is only one "original" coat of paint, and if you strip it off or cover it up, you devalue the bike. I can see the point for rare and unique models, or especially antique bikes, but for the mass-produced late-model older bikes, I don't really get it. It's like an old house; you don't keep the original paint on the house, right? You repaint it, and sometimes frequently. Doing so protects the house and makes it looks better. And why hire a painter when paint and brushes are readily available? You save money and get the satisfaction of doing the job yourself.

My wife is a rare book librarian and I'm a historian, so believe me, I appreciate the value of a pristine historical artifact, but many old bikes are not historical artifacts. They are working machines that should be used and enjoyed. If a new coat of paint (done right and done yourself) is what it takes to enjoy your old bike that much more, then I say go for it!

And speaking of paint, I think I'm going to put on the last coat of red today. I'll update when and if I get it done.

On the Virtues of Old Three-Speeds

The following comes from a reader and group administrator for the 3-Speed Bicycle Lovers Group on Flickr. He wrote me a few weeks ago after I posted a photo of my bike to his group, and I've been meaning to post part of his email here ever since. "Hank" does an excellent job of expressing the utility and simplicity of these bikes:

"Old 3-speed bikes are built like tanks, and the Sturmey
Archer hub is a nearly infallible gearing mechanism. In
Boston where I live you see a lot of these bikes still
running. Dealers in town can easily sell one of these bikes
in good shape for as much as $200 to $300. I'd rather find
one for cheap - it's not too hard!

In my opinion an old 3-speed is the perfect everyday bike
for riding through the city. When I have a passenger side
mirror to my left and a row of parked cars to the right,
the narrowness of the North Road handlebars have enabled me
to squeeze between them, which is something you could never
do with a mountain bike or a cruiser. Also if need be, I
can switch gears when I'm at a complete stop. If I get
caught in the rain the fender keeps my back dry. They are
comfortable too as I am in an upright position when I'm
riding. Maintenance is fairly simple as well. Enough of my
ranting and raving...

Good luck with your bike. I hope to see more photos when
you're done fixing it up. May it bring you years of good
use! Thanks again."

Hank, thank you! More thoughts and postings on old bikes to come, and of course, more updates on my progress.

Hurtling Toward Another Great Depression

I don't usually get into economic matters here, other than to say that DIY work on old bikes is a thrifty way to keep yourself mobile, but I want to take that a half-step farther today in light of the dire financial news that broke yesterday and today. With big finance falling about our ears in a manner akin to the early days of the Great Depression, it's yet another reminder to take a good look back at the strategies that kept some working families afloat during the 1930s, including the use of bicycles as transportation, a policy of repair instead of replacement, and an ethic of save, save, save. Our financial infrastructure, our transportation infrastructure, and the prejudices many Americans still harbor against "old" things are the lingering products of post-WWII prosperity, but as it becomes evident that this financial trouble is not going to simply go away, hard times will prove more instructive than prosperous ones for furnishing a path forward. And what better way to ride that path than on an old bike?

Image: From Flickr user laurasmoncur, used with permission.

Change Is Good

Yeah, okay, I changed the layout again. I think I'm going to try to settle on this one for a while, maybe make a few more minor changes, but basically leave it alone. Since this week's big activity with the bike is letting the paint get nice and dry, there isn't much else to do. It's like watching paint dry. Really.

Also, I've been kicking around some ideas about what to do with this blog after my bike is finished. My wife needs a new bike, so maybe I'll have another project to work on. I've also been thinking about just a general catch-all for old bike stuff, but I don't know how interesting that would really be. The other option (perhaps in combination with the first two) is to give voice to some of the reasons (ideological, practical, aesthetic, recreational, etc.) that motivate my interest in old bikes. I'm not a collector (although I can see the attraction), I'm not an aficionado, and I'm not a gear-head. So, why old bikes? Maybe I'll get around to answering.

Reader Project: Diane's 1963 Schwinn Hollywood

Diane left a comment a while back asking for help dismantling an original Sturmey-Archer grip-shifter on her 1963 Schwinn Hollywood. She eventually figured it out herself (with help from the OBB and its readers, yay!), and her success has energized her efforts to clean up and restore her beautiful old bike. Here's what Diane has to say:

The bike had a tremendous amount of rust on her from top to bottom I mean on EVERYTHING! I didn’t know where to start or what to use that wouldn’t take the whole thing down to the metal…I began with a regular hairbrush to get the flaky rust off. Then I took a product called Rust Cure and extra fine steel wool from Ace Hardware which I read was perfectly safe for the chrome areas and they did shine up like a new penny (or nickel)…but the spray dripped onto the paint on the fender (also covered in rust) right where the decals are…I panicked and rubbed the area with a golf towel (husband wasn’t very pleased with that choice) and shockingly it also shined up like a new penny! No damage to the paint or the decals! After I followed this process on every inch of the bike…she looked exactly the way she did when mama let me have it as my “big girl bike”. It’s a pretty awesome product used sparingly and with caution… I also repaired the brake by myself, the chain & the tires…the grip shifter is the finale…but then I get to begin a much more thorough cleaning and restoration of the chrome and such.

I love hearing stories like this from readers who aren't "bike people." Diane says that before she started this project, the only thing she knew how to do with this bike was ride it. That's just like me when I started this blog, and now fourteen months and four bikes later, I've learned so much more than I ever expected. Folks, it is possible to work on your own bike, and fun too, and you don't have to be a hard-core mechanic to do it. Having the bike to ride is important, but it's also the sense of accomplishment and feeling of pride that comes along with doing your own work on your own bike. And, as you gain confidence with each new task accomplished and skill mastered, you can move on to more complicated projects. Sure, there will be setbacks, but even occasional failures are instructive. It's all about learning, doing, and overcoming challenges--lessons that transcend working on old bikes.

A Very Wonderful Note

I want to share this wonderful note, which was recently left in the comments of an old post. I didn't want folks to miss this fellow's story, and didn't figure too many people would see it languishing in a post from a few months back, so I've decided to give it the attention it deserves. This, everyone, is why I started this blog, and why I love it so much.

Here's the note, in its entirety:

In the tradition of the old bike blog, I'm responding to an old post. I used to mountain bike exclusively, this was mainly because CHP (http://www.climbonline.org/cgi-bin/yabb2/YaBB.pl?board=cunningham) in NYC was two minutes from my apartment. Now I live in Tacoma, WA and the nearest mtn. biking requires a car ride. Due to this I've sort of re-discovered my love of bicycling and bicycles in general.

Concurrently I saw a 1936 Rollfast at a garage sale this summer for $25. It was beautiful and I had to have it, so I coughed up the cash and brought it home. Searching on the Internet I began to learn about vintage bicycles, antique bicycles, balloon-tire pre-war bicycles, etc. etc. My search led me to blogs such as this and exploded a new interest/hobby/obsession within me.

I also discovered that to totally restore it to it's original state (won't even discuss the paint job - it appears new) will cost me several hundred if not thousands of of dollars for parts on e-bay. I bought this bike because it looked beautiful, and would love to see it restored to its original condition, but not at that price! I have lovingly taken the whole thing apart, cleaned rust, grime, and dirt off of metal parts, re-lubed many parts, purchased ball bearings, bearing grease, cleaning agents, rust removal agents, copper wool, wire brushes. Halfway through this process I discovered a new hobby/obsession, but also new that I don't have the cash to restore the bike all the way. Nor do I want to. I want to learn from it and ride it (actually make it a b-day present for my wife to ride.) I don't have the cash to re-chrome fender braces, trusses, chain-rings , and the handlebars which somebody painted black; I can't justify the $75 for a tank that's currently on e-bay, or the cost of a NOS light and generator. And on and on... So I'm compromising.

I'm going to clean and fix the best I can. New white walls, tubes, rim tape. Going to purchase (gasp) white spokes (one extra expense) because they will look cool with the red/white paint scheme, gonna teach myself how to true a wheel and then re-build the wheel with the newly cleaned New Departure Hub and white spokes. I got a cheap rack off of e-bay, which I will put on even though it's not an original 8-hole style rack. I got a set of non-painted black handlebars really cheap too, going to add those.

So in the end the Rollfast will be a present to my wife. It will have given me hours of enjoyment learning how older bikes were built, it will have the feel and look of a fat-tire vintage bicycle, some new parts, some non-accurate parts, some old cleaned parts, and some rusty, not shiny, not beautiful parts. For an original investment of $25 I'd say that's a bargain.

Wow, that's a lot. The point is I don't believe historically accurate restoration is for me. I don't have the patience or the money for it. I want to ride, ride, ride. Not collect, restore, and display. I'll leave that to others better equipped for it.

I'll send you some pics of the Rollfast, along with the 1975 Schwinn Suburban (rootbeer color, $15 at a garage sale), 1968 Women's Columbia Rambler ($35, still has sparkly purple-pink paint), Centrix Cruiser ($20 have no idea what this is or where it's from) and all the other bikes I pick up along the way.

Thanks Thom for an excellent and informative blog!!!

Aw, shucks. That really made my day, I must say.

Why Your Old Bike Isn't More Valuable (Yet)

Just came across this interesting essay that talks about the time between when an object is new, and when it becomes valuable as "vintage" or "antique." I have happily exploited "The Trough" in old bike value, and in fact, the distinct lack of collector value of most of my bikes is the main reason this is called the "Old" Bike Blog, and not the "Vintage" or "Classic" or "Antique" Bike Blog. What I find interesting, of course, is that the use value of an old bike never declines (unless through mechanical problems), it's just that the perception of that value changes over time.

Read The Trough of No Value @ The Online Photographer

Thoughts on a Quiet Revolution

Wired magazine today covers Interbike 2015, the bicycle industry's annual big hoopla trade show, and refers to a "quiet revolution" away from the high-end, high-performance road bikes and mountain bikes that were so popular during the 1990s and early 2000s. People have realized that getting about in the city is easier on a simpler, more comfortable ride rather than a mountain bike with fourteen kinds of suspension or a road bike that practically forces you to ride like you're in The Tour. The article cites the recent rise of fixed-gear bikes especially, with narrow handlebars for zipping through traffic, and even (gasp) fenders to keep you dry.

But who's fueling (ha!) the trend in fixed-gears? It's hipsters with iLives and no discernible source of income with which to buy these increasingly expensive bikes. Soon (if not already) the yuppies or yippies, or whatever, will turn in their mountain bikes they never take to the mountains and their racing bikes they never race with and buy a fixed-gear, some cropped bike pants, and a messenger bag and think they're the bee's knees. And bike manufacturers will be happy to jack up the prices on these simple machines as the demand skyrockets, making the fixed gear or urban commuter just as expensive and exclusive as the mountain bikes and racing bikes. It's already happening. It is a bicycle industry after all, and there's money to be made.

My humble suggestion: if people want a comfortable, reliable bike that's good in the city (and reasonably priced), go old. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of old bikes out there in barns and garages, just waiting to be fixed up and put back on the road for fairly minimal cost and effort. In the process, people can learn something, accomplish something, and get a truly personalized and unique bicycle in the end. I applaud the idea of a "quiet revolution", but if it's really going to be a revolution, it should be guided by people in their own garages with wrenches in their hands, not by the bicycle industry.

PS--The logo above is adapted from Revolution Cycles in Madison, WI, which hosts We Are All Mechanics, a group devoted to demystifying bicycle repair, particularly for women. I am not affiliated with either.

About the Old Bike Blog

I'm not a meticulous observer of my StatCounter stats, but a recent increase in the volume of reader emails suggests that more folks are finding the Old Bike Blog, and the ranks of my mindless zombie army, uh, "Followers" are incrementally growing ever-closer to the 50 mark (maniacal laugh, wrings hands in arch-villain, mad scientist style).

So, I thought it might be time again to explain for new readers just what this blog is all about. I started it in July 2015 when I decided, with no experience whatsoever, to completely take apart, overhaul, paint, and reassemble my 1971 Columbia Sports III. This bike had been my daily rider for about a year, ever since the mountain bike I'd had since high school was stolen. I decided that since I was relying on this bike to get me around, I really should know everything about how it worked.

You can follow my naive progress on the Columbia by clicking on the appropriate label tabs at right. The point is, I did it. In the process, I learned quite a lot, and acquired a bit of an addiction for old bikes. The point I wanted to make with the blog, aside from chronicling my progress, was that if I can do it with no experience, anyone can resurrect an old bike themselves. The cost can be fairly minimal, or it can be extensive, depending on how much work you want to put into it. It takes time, effort, and a willingness to learn (and fail), but restoring an old bike to full functionality, and then using it, is one of the most rewarding things I've ever done.

Although I have occasionally offered "how to" advice, my main goal is to show that old bikes, and bikes in general, are accessible, serviceable, and enjoyable to folks who don't consider themselves "bike people." I believe that old bicycles, and the skills that keep them running, have the potential to vastly democratize the bicycle culture, get more people on bikes, and increase our general competence level as a society. I believe that everyone should know how to service and maintain the bicycle they ride on a daily basis. For me, this means an old bike, and I hope it does for you, too.

Blog Love: Bakfiets en Meer

Photo: Henry in A'dam's Flickr photostream. Used with permission.

This post marks the beginning of a new feature on the OBB (and my 200th post!) in which I highlight a blog and/or blog post that strikes me as especially good or interesting and which I think deserves wider circulation--all part of building a larger community of like-minded folks and perhaps giving y'all some new ideas.

This inaugural post comes from Bakfiets en Meer: Utility Cycling News and Opinions from Amsterdam, run by Henry of WorkCycles. The whole blog is worth a look, but the post on old bikes around Amsterdam really caught my eye. Check out the lovely photo essay, and short article on the prevalence of well-loved and well-used trusty old bikes in one of the world's most bike-friendly cities.

The Runwell's History Lessons

Now that the Runwell is up and running again, with only a few things left to finish, I wanted to share a bit of its history, or at least what I can deduce from some its features. I still don't know the date of production, but the 1920s or 1930s still seems right. Apparently, most bikes with the Perry coaster hub were manufactured for sale overseas, but I know that the bike was in England until the previous owner brought it to the U.S. sometime in the 1980s (I think). I also know that the bike was in use during World War II, and here's the really cool part. The most obvious sign that the bike was in use during the war is the "Dunlop War Grade" tyres that were still on it when I bought it. Although these could have been remainders put on after the war, it's pretty amazing to think that the last time these tyres were changed could have been in the 1940s.

Another pretty clear indication that it was used during the war is the white "blackout stripe" rather sloppily painted on the rear fender (mudguard, for the Brits), apparently in house paint. I can imagine the original owner cringing a bit as he slopped white paint on his glossy black fender and gold pinstripes.

The final clue, and the one that is perhaps the most moving for me, is that replacement brake pads appear to have been cut from salvaged rubber and installed in the shoes, I'm guessing in order to conserve resources during the war.

The sad part, and the real conundrum for folks like me, is that all of these features have now either been removed or covered up in the process of making the bike useable again. The material evidence of the bicycle's eventful past has literally been stripped away, out of necessity of course, but it's still a little sad. My great comfort, though, is that the bicycle will again be used for its intended purpose, rather than rusting in a back yard. I will also keep the tyres and brakes, of course, to pass on to the next owner of the Runwell, but hopefully that won't be for a long, long time.

Easy Does It

I had an experience this afternoon that I suspect is common to folks who work on bicycles, or any intricate mechanical devices. I started what I imagined would be a fairly simple task, only to find myself embroiled in what became a significant project.

Yesterday, while on my weekly grocery run, I sat back on the Columbia on a smooth stretch of bike lane (rare around here) and noticed an odd, rhythmic bump from the back wheel. These things can be hard to notice in San Diego due to the overall wretched condition of the streets, but I don't think this had been going on for very long.

Yesterday was a busy day, so when I got home, I put the bike away and didn't think much more about it. I figured the wheel just needed to be trued (see also: terrible condition of the streets), and I made time to do it this afternoon. When I went to the garage this afternoon, I flipped the bike over (no work stand) and started checking spokes, figuring on maybe a ten-minute task. But then I found the culprit. Not just a rim out of true, but a broken spoke, snapped off at the hub flange. Arg.

Well, it just so happens that one of my idiot neighbors in the building behind us had thrown away a perfectly good 26-inch wheel simply because the tube had gone flat. Right, the whole wheel for a flat tube, I know.

So anyway, I had some extra spokes. Of course, it's no small thing to change a spoke, especially in a rear wheel. First, the wheel comes off, which on a three-speed involves messing up your carefully-adjusted shifter cable, then the tire and tube, then you have to fish out the broken spoke, then take off the sprocket in order to get the new spoke laced in because it's in the way.

The better part of an hour later, I'm sweating, grumbling, aching, my hands are a peculiar shade of blue-black, and I've finally got the whole mess back together with the new spoke laced in. Whoo. So then, with the wheel back in the dropouts, I start tightening it down again. But now I'm having trouble getting the bearing cone adjusted properly and the hub is running stiffly and noisily. The wheel went on and came off about three times, and I kept noticing more little problems. They seemed to be snowballing as I worked. Things that hadn't been wrong before were now mysteriously going wrong.

By now, without realizing it, I was in full crazy person mode: walking around stooped over, smeared with grime, muttering and swearing out-loud. An innocent pedestrian walked by (our garage is right on the street), shot me an apprehensive look, and made a distinctly wide berth around me.

I suddenly became aware of just how badly I was working. Because I had experienced some setbacks and some things weren't going as smoothly as I thought they should, I had started working quickly and sloppily, I was irritated and not enjoying what I was doing. That, of course, is why things seemed to be going wrong; I was causing problems by being careless.

I checked myself, straightened up, wiped some of the grime off, took a drink of water, and adjusted my attitude. This is, after all, supposed to be something I enjoy, not something that turns me into the kind of person others avoid. I had lost sight of my goals, I was focusing only on the problems, and I was getting wrapped up in all the niggling details. As soon as I slowed myself down, the incomprehensible problems before me seemed to sort themselves into distinct categories, and the solutions became obvious.

That moment of pulling back, stepping away, collecting yourself, is all-important, because it’s then that you can literally put some distance between yourself and the problem you are confronting. It’s a moment we often neglect in other parts of our lives, but working on a physical, mechanical problem forces us to acknowledge the need to relax our tight focus somewhat, and to revisit the larger world in which we are functioning, hunched over, covered in grime, swearing under our breath.

I'll not claim to have discovered the secret to happiness while changing out a broken spoke, but this kind of work does lend itself to self-reflection, and I'd like to think I came away with more than just a fixed wheel.