Well, the LHT project mentioned last time is rolling inexorably toward completion, but not without some predictable bumps in the road. Here’s another problem: Steve-O is an experienced cyclist. He’s put in enough miles to know exactly what he wants and needs out of a bike. What he lacks is any experience with what products are currently available and how a modern bike works. We discussed previously his expectation of 20,000 miles out of a drivetrain. At first blush, this seemed absofuckinglutely ridiculous, but I wanted to know where that expectation had come from. He had gotten that many miles out of a drivetrain once. I believe that drivetrain durability has increased due to better materials and manufacturing, two inevitable products of a technology-driven industry. So what would prevent him from getting 20,000 miles out of a modern drivetrain? Well, we also discussed the likelihood that Steve-O’s previous drivetrain was an outlier; one of those situations in which all the variables that affect longevity swung in the right direction. That’s not an adequate explanation.
Upon further consideration, I came to a startling realization. Steve-O has NEVER had a bike with indexed shifting. It’s true a severely worn chain is more prone to breakage, but if it’s coddled, that may not make any difference. What would become apparent far before that became an issue is the poor shifting performance brought about by a chain that had grown too flexible. Sure, Steve-O may get 20,000 miles out this drivetrain, but his shifting is gonna shit the bed long before his odometer trips five figures. That will be a fun conversation…
“Hey ABW, I was wondering if you can take a look at my shifting; it’s not hitting the gears.”
“Sure,” I’ll say, grabbing the chain-checker, as I do with pretty much every bike I put in the stand for diagnosis. I’ll pop it on the chain, press the little, black, pie-shaped wedge, bottoming it out, and then I’ll wiggle it back and forth, verifying that his chain is well past the point at which it alone can be replaced.
“Well, you need a new chain and cassette…” I’ll stoop to take a look at the teeth on his middle chainring, noting their hooked, shark-fin profile. “And maybe a middle chainring.”
There will be a pause while he digests this, and then we’ll get to the good part.
“You mean I paid 1700 bucks for this thing two years ago and it already needs a new drivetrain?”
I’ll bite my tongue, and my cheek, and do my best to explain to him that which I’ve tried to explain a dozen times before, and it will do no more good this time than it ever has in the past, and I’ll look at 8-speed cassettes and note that, since they are obsolete technology, the only one with a cog larger than 30 teeth is a MegaRange piece of shit, and he’ll bitch about the jump to the large cog, and it’ll all go round and round and round again. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Back to Plan A. The LHT is sold as a complete bike with a 9-speed drivetrain. Aside from the extra cog, Steve-O had only minor quibbles with the rest of the parts spec. He was suspicious of the Andel cranks, but I noted they had forged arms and a common BCD, which makes them more than adequate. I told him they would probably work OK with an 8-speed chain, but he worried that the chainrings would be narrower than 8-speed rings, and thus less durable. Pause to bang head on top of bench. OK, we can swap to a Sugino crankset. Nothing wrong with Sugino.
Next problem was availability. Note that Steve-O’s last new bike was purchased 32 years ago. Well, the complete LHT with 26” wheels would not be available until spring. All of a sudden, it was important to have this new bike in time to do a tour in Texas this January. With that constraint, we didn’t have much choice but to buy the frame and parts and do a pro-build. No problem, since he’s particular about parts anyway, and this is an opportunity to get exactly what he wants. On to Plan B.
Immediately, gearing becomes the focus of discussion. He has Excel spreadsheets of the gear ratios of all his other bikes, I shit you not. He brings these in. He notes that his Kabuki has a granny of 22.3” and he’d like something a little smaller than that. No problem. He also notes that he’d like a top gear in the 110” range. Fuck. This brings up a whole new discussion, during which I try to explain things like the capacity of derailleurs, to no avail. I finally tell him flat out that, given the parts that I know to be available, he cannot have a 19” granny and a 110” top gear. He seems to grudgingly accept this.
I thought that was a victory, but it didn’t last. I put together an exhaustive parts list, based in part on feedback I’d gotten from a friend inside QBP, Fred. Fred was service manager at Any Bike Shop three service managers before me, and had earned Steve-O’s trust in a way I could only hope for. I was under the impression that Steve-O and Fred had discussed pricing, so I told Steve what it was gonna cost. Steve-O adds it up to arrive at a figure of about 1700 bucks. Pregnant pause. Steve-O goes to the computer and punches up Surly’s website, noting that MSRP for the LHT complete is 1100 bucks. The pause is now giving birth. Note, we’ve got the frame hanging in the shop. We’ve paid for it, and we’re sure as shit not eating it, but Steve-O decides at this point to question that $600.00 difference. I know, my fault for assuming Steve-O and Fred had discussed pricing, and my fault for assuming Steve-O understood that building a bike frame-up will always cost more than buying a complete bike. You know what they say about assuming…
Bossman and I start throwing out explanations, a tinge of desperation on the perimeter of our comments. We do not, nay, we cannot eat the cost of that frame. Other bikes shops might be able to, but we’re in dire straights here. Hell, maybe we’re in these dire straights because we get ourselves into situations like this, but I don’t think so, and I’m not going to dwell on that right now. We talk about how he’s getting a parts mix that fits his needs perfectly, and hand-built and tensioned wheels, and the quality of our pro-build, etc. He’s still not quite convinced, and patience, already thin, is waning. If he had said at that moment that he’d rather wait for the complete bikes and swap out the 9-speed stuff for 8, I would have walked out the door. That pregnant pause had given birth, and its offspring was writhing around on the floor, screaming its head off.
“OK, let’s do it.”
I said a silent prayer. Dear God or gods, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, and if you care, thank you for pulling Steve-O’s head out of his ass just long enough to acquiesce. I promise I will assemble this bike with as much care as I can muster. I will answer his gearing questions, and I will fiddle with his fit, and I will deal with his general obsessive compulsion, and I’ll not complain, as long as we make money on this fucking bike. Amen.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
New Beginnings
Well...shit. We just lost our biggest line. I guess I never like Trek anyway. Well, that's not true. Truth is, I respect them as a company, find no distinct fault with their products, but also never really found them to be particularly exciting. They're like Budweiser. Consistent, dependable, and likely to appeal to the greatest number of people. Great, but that also means you're not going to inspire the true connoisseurs. (As an aside, I just fucking spelled "connoisseur" correctly without looking it up. Fucking mad skills off the bike as well.) There's a reason Pegoretti sells only a few hundred frames a year - they don't appeal to the masses. But, to those for whom they are built, they are the most beautiful frames in the world.
I don't know what this means for me. Probably nothing. What difference does it make if I'm selling a Trek to a fat Midwesterner or a Giant or a Specialized or any of the other Big Guys? Still selling underappreciated bikes to DBs who'll neglect them and then complain when I tell them how much it'll cost to make it work again. Well, it means I get to field some awkward questions when people walk into a bike shop that's got four fucking bikes on the floor. Fuck.
I don't know what this means for me. Probably nothing. What difference does it make if I'm selling a Trek to a fat Midwesterner or a Giant or a Specialized or any of the other Big Guys? Still selling underappreciated bikes to DBs who'll neglect them and then complain when I tell them how much it'll cost to make it work again. Well, it means I get to field some awkward questions when people walk into a bike shop that's got four fucking bikes on the floor. Fuck.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Steve-O and More Planned Obsolescence
I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to put these Angry Thoughts down on paper, but such is life. I’m compelled to mention the confluence of events that precipitated this post. I’ve already mentioned the way the cycling community in the Midwest disappears when it gets cold, like your testicles when you jump into 32 degree water. That is Exhibit A. Exhibit B is the organization to which I belong, which as of 12 months ago included three locations and now includes but one. Yeah, the last year has been tough. Well, the boss took a week off for personal reasons, and while he was away, a paycheck bounced. I’d like to say it was a horrible surprise, but it was the third time it’d happened, and I wasn’t surprised at all. We’d discussed laying me off in January anyway, since Uncle Sam has so much more money than we do. Well, when he got back, he asked if I wanted to take December off as well. I did. The shop has been driving me fucking bonkers for the last six weeks anyway, and I’ve got some personal projects I’ve been neglecting.
A couple of weeks ago, a regular customer, let’s call him Steve-O, stopped in. Steve-O is a fairly hardcore tourer, and the quintessential retrogrouch. Steve-O has never owned a new bike. He was now looking at the Long Haul Trucker from the Midwest’s favorite illegitimate child, Surly. I have nothing bad to say about the LHT. In fact, I own one myself, and if you put a gun to my head and told me to pick just one of my six bikes, it would be the LHT. My greatest hope in life is to find the female equivalent of the LHT: simple, sturdy, strong, and easy on the eyes in a utilitarian kind of way. She is a beautiful machine. I mean the bike, although I hope the woman will be a beautiful machine as well.
Steve-O’s problem with the LHT is not with the frame, but with the mix of components those crazy bastards at Surly have decided to hang on it. Put simply, he’s suspicious of the durability of a 9-speed drivetrain. Here we go.
At first blush, his logic seems sounds: in order to accommodate more gears, chains have gotten narrower. A narrower chain must contain less metal. A chain cannot be more durable if it contains less metal. Ergo, a 9-speed drivetrain is less durable.
I know what you’re thinking. You think you’re clever, but I’m a step ahead of you. You recognize that Steve-O’s logic does not take into account the quality of the metal, the construction of the chain, or the diligence with which you might care for your drivetrain. You’re thinking that you’d bust out some commentary about steel alloys, or bushinged vs. bushingless, and tell him that, in eleventy billion miles of riding on 9, 10, and even 11 speed drivetrains, you’ve never, ever, broken a chain. You think you’re so clever, you naïve son of a bitch. But you lack the advantage of having experienced Steve-O’s existing bikes. They are the most marvelous and neglected pieces of shit you have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. His bar tape hangs in tatters from the drops. His cable housing is riddled with cracks, and his cables are always, always, frayed. He brings his bike in, complaining of a “creak in the bottom bracket,” and it is always the chain, protesting its neglect in frequencies heard only by Andy, our loyal shop dog. With this knowledge, I fortified myself and made preparations to lose an argument.
“So, what are your reservations about the 9-speed drivetrain?”
“I read on a touring forum that some guy had broken a 9-speed chain.”
OK.
In my defense (or yours), I made all the aforementioned arguments. I had seen his bikes, but I thought he might understand that better alloys and better construction could yield a bike with more speeds and better durability, but he would hear nothing of it.
“In the good old days, you didn’t have to replace chains, or drivetrains. I’ve got 20,000* miles on the drivetrain of my Kabuki.” (* This is not a typo. That’s Twenty. Thousand. Miles.)
Deep breath. Collect your thoughts.
“Well, I’m afraid if your expectation is 20,000 miles out of a drivetrain, any drivetrain, you’re going to be disappointed. Chains just weren’t designed to last that long. I mean, that’s like hoping for 10,000 miles out of an oil change.”
HA! Check! There is no defense to the Automotive Analogy.
“No, I don’t expect 10,000 miles from an oil change, but I do expect 400,000 miles out of my cars.”
Fuck.
This tidbit of information revealed to me that I could not win this argument. Yes, some vehicles last for 400,000 miles. Some drivetrains last for 20,000 miles. Some people live to 110. They are the outliers, but it does happen, and if it happens, then it means that, in his mind, Steve-O’s drivetrain is as likely as any to last for 20,000 miles. It turns out there is a counter to the Automotive Analogy. It is the Outlier As a Standard Worldview.
I threw in the towel, because after all, what the fuck does it matter to me? My motto is: “Give me enough time, money, and beer, and I’ll fix a rainy day.” Sure, I can build you an LHT with an 8-speed drivetain. Give me time, money, and beer. While doing inventory, I came across a set of 8-speed Ultegra bar-end shifters. I shot Steve-O an email and told him that all we needed now was an 8-speed cassette and we’d be in business.
A couple of weeks ago, a regular customer, let’s call him Steve-O, stopped in. Steve-O is a fairly hardcore tourer, and the quintessential retrogrouch. Steve-O has never owned a new bike. He was now looking at the Long Haul Trucker from the Midwest’s favorite illegitimate child, Surly. I have nothing bad to say about the LHT. In fact, I own one myself, and if you put a gun to my head and told me to pick just one of my six bikes, it would be the LHT. My greatest hope in life is to find the female equivalent of the LHT: simple, sturdy, strong, and easy on the eyes in a utilitarian kind of way. She is a beautiful machine. I mean the bike, although I hope the woman will be a beautiful machine as well.
Steve-O’s problem with the LHT is not with the frame, but with the mix of components those crazy bastards at Surly have decided to hang on it. Put simply, he’s suspicious of the durability of a 9-speed drivetrain. Here we go.
At first blush, his logic seems sounds: in order to accommodate more gears, chains have gotten narrower. A narrower chain must contain less metal. A chain cannot be more durable if it contains less metal. Ergo, a 9-speed drivetrain is less durable.
I know what you’re thinking. You think you’re clever, but I’m a step ahead of you. You recognize that Steve-O’s logic does not take into account the quality of the metal, the construction of the chain, or the diligence with which you might care for your drivetrain. You’re thinking that you’d bust out some commentary about steel alloys, or bushinged vs. bushingless, and tell him that, in eleventy billion miles of riding on 9, 10, and even 11 speed drivetrains, you’ve never, ever, broken a chain. You think you’re so clever, you naïve son of a bitch. But you lack the advantage of having experienced Steve-O’s existing bikes. They are the most marvelous and neglected pieces of shit you have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. His bar tape hangs in tatters from the drops. His cable housing is riddled with cracks, and his cables are always, always, frayed. He brings his bike in, complaining of a “creak in the bottom bracket,” and it is always the chain, protesting its neglect in frequencies heard only by Andy, our loyal shop dog. With this knowledge, I fortified myself and made preparations to lose an argument.
“So, what are your reservations about the 9-speed drivetrain?”
“I read on a touring forum that some guy had broken a 9-speed chain.”
OK.
In my defense (or yours), I made all the aforementioned arguments. I had seen his bikes, but I thought he might understand that better alloys and better construction could yield a bike with more speeds and better durability, but he would hear nothing of it.
“In the good old days, you didn’t have to replace chains, or drivetrains. I’ve got 20,000* miles on the drivetrain of my Kabuki.” (* This is not a typo. That’s Twenty. Thousand. Miles.)
Deep breath. Collect your thoughts.
“Well, I’m afraid if your expectation is 20,000 miles out of a drivetrain, any drivetrain, you’re going to be disappointed. Chains just weren’t designed to last that long. I mean, that’s like hoping for 10,000 miles out of an oil change.”
HA! Check! There is no defense to the Automotive Analogy.
“No, I don’t expect 10,000 miles from an oil change, but I do expect 400,000 miles out of my cars.”
Fuck.
This tidbit of information revealed to me that I could not win this argument. Yes, some vehicles last for 400,000 miles. Some drivetrains last for 20,000 miles. Some people live to 110. They are the outliers, but it does happen, and if it happens, then it means that, in his mind, Steve-O’s drivetrain is as likely as any to last for 20,000 miles. It turns out there is a counter to the Automotive Analogy. It is the Outlier As a Standard Worldview.
I threw in the towel, because after all, what the fuck does it matter to me? My motto is: “Give me enough time, money, and beer, and I’ll fix a rainy day.” Sure, I can build you an LHT with an 8-speed drivetain. Give me time, money, and beer. While doing inventory, I came across a set of 8-speed Ultegra bar-end shifters. I shot Steve-O an email and told him that all we needed now was an 8-speed cassette and we’d be in business.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
'Nuf Said
Again, my loyal followers, apologies for irregular updates. I suppose I could wax poetic about how much there is to make me angry in a slow shop, but mostly it just depresses me, and I'd rather not bring you down. Will do my best to update regularly in the future.
In the meantime, there are a few websites I check regularly to keep abreast of developments, learn new shit, and reinforce the shit I thought I knew. Rivendell Bicycles, founded by Grant Petersen (formerly of Bridgestone), is one of those sites. Petersen is among the more polarizing of figures in the industry. His opinions about the "right" way of doing things, including fit, component selection, and frame material are by no means the final word, but those opinions are also based on decades of experience, above-average intelligence, and a lot of common sense. I've copied below the tips for happy riding found on the Rivendell website. I dare you to argue any of them intelligently.
Original content can be found at: http://www.rivbike.com/article/misc/tips_for_happy_riding
Tips for Happy Riding
Learn right away that the front brake is the most effective one, and to never lock the front wheel in dirt (or on the road, but it's more likely in dirt). Learn how far you can lean over without scraping a pedal.
Learn to keep the inside pedal UP when you corner, and learn to ride safely in all conditions. Be the master and commander of your own bicycle.
Signal your approach to pedestrians, especially if they're old, and a bell is better than "On your left!" If no bell, try clacking your brake levers. If all you got is "On your left!" that's fine, but if you ride a lot on paths, get a bell.
At least one ride in 10, go without your sunglasses and gloves. Sometime next month, put some double-sided cheap-style pedals on a good bike and ride in non-cycling garb. It works shockingly well, and sends a good message to would-be bicycle riders.
Carry an extra tube you can give to somebody with a flat tire and just a repair kit.
If you're a guy, don't try to be a mentor to every female cyclist you meet.
Don't ride in shoes you can't walk through an antique shop in.
Don't wear clothing that makes your sweat stink even more.
Don't think you'll go faster in a significant way if you and your bike become more aerodynamic.
Put a $20 bill inside your seat post or handlebar and hold it there, somehow.
Don't ride until you're confident you can fix a flat.
If you ride more than one bike, have a set of bring-along tools for each one. Learn how to remove your rear wheel (put the chain onto the small cog, etc.).
If you ride in a group, bring food for you and somebody who forgot to.
Go for a one-hour ride underdressed sometime, because it's good to be really cold on a bike every now and then.The reverse (overdressing in hot weather) is not necessary!
Never blame your bike or your health or anything else if you're the last one up the hill or in to the rest stop.
If your brake hoods are black, wrap your bars with a different color tape, so it doesn't look like a one-piece set-up.
Never let your chain squeak.
If you pass another rider going up a hill, say more than "Hi," but if it's a woman and you aren't, don't assume she wants to chit-chat. Treat her as you'd have a generic guy-rider treat your wife/daughter/girlfriend.
If you're a woman and it's a guy, you can chit-chat all you like, they won't mind.
If you see another rider approaching you from the rear and trying to catch you, let it happen. Fun is more important than fast.
Don't put any cyclist up on a pedestal, except Lon and Freddie.
Sometimes, bring normal food on your ride. Sometimes bring none. If you're reasonably well-rested and have eaten anything at all in the last eighteen hours (and are not diabetic), you should be able to pedal your bike for two to three hours without supercharging your system with carbohydrates. Believe it or not, carbs really do make you fat, and are necessary only for long, hard rides.
Shoot photos on your rides and give them away.
Feel comfortable mixing high tech and low tech, old and new parts and technologies, and don't apologize to anybody for it.
Compliment other people's bikes, especially if they're new.
Buy the cheapest helmet that fits well.
Try seersucker shirts for hot weather riding, and long-sleeved ones are best.
Don't underestimate fig bars. If you get a new widget and like it, don't "swear by it."
Don't always shop by price and never ask for discounts at your local bike shop. Every time you go into a bike shop, spend at least $2, and if you ask a question and get good advice, spend $5.
If you buy a rack, don't ask for free installation.
Don't assume your bike shop is making money.
Ride only when you feel like it.
If you know a fast new rider, don't say, "You really ought to race."
If you see a stocky woman rider, don't suggest she race track.
Have at least one bike you feel comfortable riding in a downpour.
Ride in weather that keeps other cyclers indoors.
Never keep track of your pedaling cadence.
If you have a normal loop or ride, count the number of times you shift on it; then the next time you ride it, cut that in half and see if it makes any difference.
Learn to ride no-hands and to hop over obstacles, but not simultaneously.
Never hit a pedestrian. In traffic, be visible and polite. Don't feel as though you must be a role model for all other riders; be polite for selfish reasons.
If you have several bikes, set them up with different equipment but always ride the saddle you like best.
Don't try to keep up with faster descenders if you're not comfortable descending.
Never apologize for buying something that's not quite pro quality by saying, "I'm not going to race or anything."
If you buy a stock bike, do something to it that makes it the only one exactly like it in the world.
Don't think it's important to match front and rear hubs or rims.
If you borrow somebody else's bike, for a short test or a long ride, say something nice about it.
Always bring a pump.
Build at least one wheel.
Wear out something.
Don't ever describe any bike, no matter how inexpensive or dilapidated, as "a piece of crap."
If you get a fancy bike assembled by somebody else, allow them a scrape or two, especially if the bike is really expensive.
In the meantime, there are a few websites I check regularly to keep abreast of developments, learn new shit, and reinforce the shit I thought I knew. Rivendell Bicycles, founded by Grant Petersen (formerly of Bridgestone), is one of those sites. Petersen is among the more polarizing of figures in the industry. His opinions about the "right" way of doing things, including fit, component selection, and frame material are by no means the final word, but those opinions are also based on decades of experience, above-average intelligence, and a lot of common sense. I've copied below the tips for happy riding found on the Rivendell website. I dare you to argue any of them intelligently.
Original content can be found at: http://www.rivbike.com/article/misc/tips_for_happy_riding
Tips for Happy Riding
Learn right away that the front brake is the most effective one, and to never lock the front wheel in dirt (or on the road, but it's more likely in dirt). Learn how far you can lean over without scraping a pedal.
Learn to keep the inside pedal UP when you corner, and learn to ride safely in all conditions. Be the master and commander of your own bicycle.
Signal your approach to pedestrians, especially if they're old, and a bell is better than "On your left!" If no bell, try clacking your brake levers. If all you got is "On your left!" that's fine, but if you ride a lot on paths, get a bell.
At least one ride in 10, go without your sunglasses and gloves. Sometime next month, put some double-sided cheap-style pedals on a good bike and ride in non-cycling garb. It works shockingly well, and sends a good message to would-be bicycle riders.
Carry an extra tube you can give to somebody with a flat tire and just a repair kit.
If you're a guy, don't try to be a mentor to every female cyclist you meet.
Don't ride in shoes you can't walk through an antique shop in.
Don't wear clothing that makes your sweat stink even more.
Don't think you'll go faster in a significant way if you and your bike become more aerodynamic.
Put a $20 bill inside your seat post or handlebar and hold it there, somehow.
Don't ride until you're confident you can fix a flat.
If you ride more than one bike, have a set of bring-along tools for each one. Learn how to remove your rear wheel (put the chain onto the small cog, etc.).
If you ride in a group, bring food for you and somebody who forgot to.
Go for a one-hour ride underdressed sometime, because it's good to be really cold on a bike every now and then.The reverse (overdressing in hot weather) is not necessary!
Never blame your bike or your health or anything else if you're the last one up the hill or in to the rest stop.
If your brake hoods are black, wrap your bars with a different color tape, so it doesn't look like a one-piece set-up.
Never let your chain squeak.
If you pass another rider going up a hill, say more than "Hi," but if it's a woman and you aren't, don't assume she wants to chit-chat. Treat her as you'd have a generic guy-rider treat your wife/daughter/girlfriend.
If you're a woman and it's a guy, you can chit-chat all you like, they won't mind.
If you see another rider approaching you from the rear and trying to catch you, let it happen. Fun is more important than fast.
Don't put any cyclist up on a pedestal, except Lon and Freddie.
Sometimes, bring normal food on your ride. Sometimes bring none. If you're reasonably well-rested and have eaten anything at all in the last eighteen hours (and are not diabetic), you should be able to pedal your bike for two to three hours without supercharging your system with carbohydrates. Believe it or not, carbs really do make you fat, and are necessary only for long, hard rides.
Shoot photos on your rides and give them away.
Feel comfortable mixing high tech and low tech, old and new parts and technologies, and don't apologize to anybody for it.
Compliment other people's bikes, especially if they're new.
Buy the cheapest helmet that fits well.
Try seersucker shirts for hot weather riding, and long-sleeved ones are best.
Don't underestimate fig bars. If you get a new widget and like it, don't "swear by it."
Don't always shop by price and never ask for discounts at your local bike shop. Every time you go into a bike shop, spend at least $2, and if you ask a question and get good advice, spend $5.
If you buy a rack, don't ask for free installation.
Don't assume your bike shop is making money.
Ride only when you feel like it.
If you know a fast new rider, don't say, "You really ought to race."
If you see a stocky woman rider, don't suggest she race track.
Have at least one bike you feel comfortable riding in a downpour.
Ride in weather that keeps other cyclers indoors.
Never keep track of your pedaling cadence.
If you have a normal loop or ride, count the number of times you shift on it; then the next time you ride it, cut that in half and see if it makes any difference.
Learn to ride no-hands and to hop over obstacles, but not simultaneously.
Never hit a pedestrian. In traffic, be visible and polite. Don't feel as though you must be a role model for all other riders; be polite for selfish reasons.
If you have several bikes, set them up with different equipment but always ride the saddle you like best.
Don't try to keep up with faster descenders if you're not comfortable descending.
Never apologize for buying something that's not quite pro quality by saying, "I'm not going to race or anything."
If you buy a stock bike, do something to it that makes it the only one exactly like it in the world.
Don't think it's important to match front and rear hubs or rims.
If you borrow somebody else's bike, for a short test or a long ride, say something nice about it.
Always bring a pump.
Build at least one wheel.
Wear out something.
Don't ever describe any bike, no matter how inexpensive or dilapidated, as "a piece of crap."
If you get a fancy bike assembled by somebody else, allow them a scrape or two, especially if the bike is really expensive.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Sincerest Apologies
My sincerest apologies dear followers for the dearth of recent posts. I understood when taking on the responsibility of informing douchebags why, in the context of bicycles and bicycle maintenance, they are douchebags, that it was a monumental undertaking. So many douchebags.
What I had not counted on was the fact that, in the Upper Midwest, service business falls off like a shot put off a kitchen table as soon as the leaves start changing. This means my contact with douchebags is limited to my coworkers, and though they all fall into that category occasionally, they really are douchebags of a different caliber and don't offer me quite the same material.
So, in an effort to keep you entertained and informed, I'll start mining some older work. While not current, the characteristics of the douchebag do not change so quickly as to render it obsolete. Coming soon: the many ways participants in organized rides can piss me off. Stay tuned, and thanks for reading.
What I had not counted on was the fact that, in the Upper Midwest, service business falls off like a shot put off a kitchen table as soon as the leaves start changing. This means my contact with douchebags is limited to my coworkers, and though they all fall into that category occasionally, they really are douchebags of a different caliber and don't offer me quite the same material.
So, in an effort to keep you entertained and informed, I'll start mining some older work. While not current, the characteristics of the douchebag do not change so quickly as to render it obsolete. Coming soon: the many ways participants in organized rides can piss me off. Stay tuned, and thanks for reading.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My Flat Tyre Schema...
I just don’t get it.
Right now, I’m studying organizational theory and behavior, specifically social and interpersonal perception. It seems that “schemas” are cognitive frameworks that systematize our knowledge of…everything, I guess. We have schemas that make sense of ourselves, others, events, etc. They’re mental frameworks that help us perceive everything around us.
Well, I think I have a fundamentally flawed schema of flat tyres. In my mind, flat tyres are just like shit. They happen. You fix them. Then you get back on the bike and ride some more. That’s it. You don’t overanalyze them when they happen. You don’t reflect on your misfortune. You don’t hire somebody else to do it for you, since any cyclist should be able to fix a flat. And finally, you never ride in fear of getting a flat. They just happen. Flat tyres as much a part of the riding experience as the sun in your eyes or the sweat on your forehead.
Gentleman came in yesterday with a Trek 1000. I’m not so much a bike snob as to turn my nose up at an entry-level road bike. What turned me off immediately was the torn bar tape, the scuffed and misaligned brake lever/shifter, the filthy drivetrain, the small/small gear combination, etc. The bike had an aura of neglect about it. This guy rode the bike without any thought toward the service the bike was providing for him, and as such, he took it for granted. This is the guy who will bitch and complain when a mechanic tells him that his chain needs to be replaced. In his mind, a bike is no different than a plastic butter knife. You use it and throw it away when you’re done. I have no patience for this attitude toward bikes.
He’s got a flat tyre. Rather than communicate effectively to me that he wants me to install a new tube, he walks in and says, “Got a flat tyre.” Well, no shit. I’ve got two eyes, and even if all I had was half a brain, I could have figured that out. What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Tell you the proper sized tube so you can fix it yourself? Point out the tubes to you? Fix it for you? The information I need is what you want me to do about it.
After that ground breaking assertion, he proceeded to say something about the age of the tyre, and again I’m puzzled, because in my flat-tyre-schema, the age of the tyre has nothing to do with the frequency of flats, unless we’re talking about a severely worn tyre with a measurably thinner layer of rubber. Finally, after asking the right questions, I determine that he wants me to install a new tube. We could have gotten to this point in 5 seconds rather than 5 minutes. That’s time I’ll never get back.
So I fixed his flat, continuing to think about our differing schemas. In his mind, flat tyres are unusual and as such, deserve scrutiny and analysis. I suppose understanding that isn’t so difficult. What is difficult is reconciling his schema with my own.
The difference is based on experience. I’ve ridden more, gotten more flat tyres, and fixed more of them. So after all this rambling, what’s today’s take-home message? Just ride your fucking bike and learn to fix your own flat tyres. I promise it’s not painful and will make the whole experience better. Once your flat tyre schema and mine are aligned, then you can hire me to fix your flats.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Ignorance and Laziness
"Any Bike Shop, this is ABW.” Unless I’m having an exceptionally shitty day, I normally manage to say that with a smile in my voice, and I was having an OK day.
“Uhm, yeah, hello?” There is the sound of a child or children screaming in the background. My OK day may be taking a turn for the worse here.
“Any Bike Shop, hello?” I’m still giving this caller the benefit of the doubt.
“Yeah, hi. How much do you charge to straighten a tyre?” Yep, my OK day is sliding right down that slippery slope. Really, I hear the straighten tyre thing often enough, you’d think I’d just get over it, but I can’t. It positively makes my teeth hurt. In my defense, I haven’t stooped to the level of my old mentor, Draco, who would launch into the conversation as if the customer had used the proper terminology. He’d sometimes talk about tubular cement and making sure the base tape showed evenly on both sides of the rim, or maybe he’d talk about contacting the manufacturer about the molding process required to center the tread between the beads, all to the consternation of the customer. Once that consternation was so awkward as to be undeniable, he’d say, “OH! What you meant to say was wheel.” The latter statement would drip with cruel sarcasm and the customer would be cowed into submission for the remainder of the conversation. It was a thing to behold. But, as I said, I haven’t stooped to that level.
“Also, how much to run those new, oh, whatdya call them, brake lines?” The child’s/children’s volume has increased and my masseters are aching like my quads would if I was headed up Alpe d’Huez.
“Well, I always hesitate to give estimates without seeing the bike, but a wheel true is 15 bucks per wheel; a new brake cable is 4 and 15 for the installation, which includes adjustment of the brake.”
“OK, then how much for a new one of those, whatdya call them, the little wheels, the little spiky wheels by the back tyre?”
I tried to say “cassette” and “sprockets” twice each, only to be interrupted each time by another misguided attempt to describe to me a part for which the owner didn’t know the right name. Despite all this evidence to the contrary, I really am a patient person, but this was pushing it. I have no patience for being interrupted by the questioner while trying to answer his/her question. I said something to the effect that, maybe it would be best to just bring the bike in.
“Oh, but that’s something you think you could fix.” Lady, give me enough time, money, and beer, and I’ll fix a rainy day.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s something we could take care of for you.” The screaming in the background intensifies. I hear the woman talking and realize she is no longer paying any attention to the phone in her hand. I hear her say something about slamming fingers in a door, and I can’t suppress a small smile of satisfaction, even though my frustration with the conversation had more to do with the woman’s lack of intelligence than her child’s/children’s behavior. I feel bad for feeling satisfied.
“Well, maybe I should let you go.” I agree with her and hang up the phone.
So many things went wrong with that conversation. I’m an exceptionally intelligent person, so there isn’t a lot about which I can’t converse intelligently. I’m not a doctor, but when I go, I know what my body parts are called. I’m not an auto tech, but when I take my car in, I know the difference between a water pump and an alternator. The issue is, I don’t see bikes as being as complex as the human body or an automobile. Despite my intelligence, I view my mastery of the bicycle as having much, much more to do with experience. I’ve known crackerjack wrenches that were dumb as rocks with regard to anything other than wrenching. They just loved bikes and immersed themselves in them. I don’t see why everybody can’t learn enough about their bikes so that, when the time comes, they can accurately describe what the bike is or isn’t doing. The issue then becomes not a question of ignorance, but of laziness. My patience for ignorance, while small, is larger than my patience for laziness. Just pay attention to your fucking bike and listen to the words coming out my mouth, and we’ll be just fine.
“Uhm, yeah, hello?” There is the sound of a child or children screaming in the background. My OK day may be taking a turn for the worse here.
“Any Bike Shop, hello?” I’m still giving this caller the benefit of the doubt.
“Yeah, hi. How much do you charge to straighten a tyre?” Yep, my OK day is sliding right down that slippery slope. Really, I hear the straighten tyre thing often enough, you’d think I’d just get over it, but I can’t. It positively makes my teeth hurt. In my defense, I haven’t stooped to the level of my old mentor, Draco, who would launch into the conversation as if the customer had used the proper terminology. He’d sometimes talk about tubular cement and making sure the base tape showed evenly on both sides of the rim, or maybe he’d talk about contacting the manufacturer about the molding process required to center the tread between the beads, all to the consternation of the customer. Once that consternation was so awkward as to be undeniable, he’d say, “OH! What you meant to say was wheel.” The latter statement would drip with cruel sarcasm and the customer would be cowed into submission for the remainder of the conversation. It was a thing to behold. But, as I said, I haven’t stooped to that level.
“Also, how much to run those new, oh, whatdya call them, brake lines?” The child’s/children’s volume has increased and my masseters are aching like my quads would if I was headed up Alpe d’Huez.
“Well, I always hesitate to give estimates without seeing the bike, but a wheel true is 15 bucks per wheel; a new brake cable is 4 and 15 for the installation, which includes adjustment of the brake.”
“OK, then how much for a new one of those, whatdya call them, the little wheels, the little spiky wheels by the back tyre?”
I tried to say “cassette” and “sprockets” twice each, only to be interrupted each time by another misguided attempt to describe to me a part for which the owner didn’t know the right name. Despite all this evidence to the contrary, I really am a patient person, but this was pushing it. I have no patience for being interrupted by the questioner while trying to answer his/her question. I said something to the effect that, maybe it would be best to just bring the bike in.
“Oh, but that’s something you think you could fix.” Lady, give me enough time, money, and beer, and I’ll fix a rainy day.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s something we could take care of for you.” The screaming in the background intensifies. I hear the woman talking and realize she is no longer paying any attention to the phone in her hand. I hear her say something about slamming fingers in a door, and I can’t suppress a small smile of satisfaction, even though my frustration with the conversation had more to do with the woman’s lack of intelligence than her child’s/children’s behavior. I feel bad for feeling satisfied.
“Well, maybe I should let you go.” I agree with her and hang up the phone.
So many things went wrong with that conversation. I’m an exceptionally intelligent person, so there isn’t a lot about which I can’t converse intelligently. I’m not a doctor, but when I go, I know what my body parts are called. I’m not an auto tech, but when I take my car in, I know the difference between a water pump and an alternator. The issue is, I don’t see bikes as being as complex as the human body or an automobile. Despite my intelligence, I view my mastery of the bicycle as having much, much more to do with experience. I’ve known crackerjack wrenches that were dumb as rocks with regard to anything other than wrenching. They just loved bikes and immersed themselves in them. I don’t see why everybody can’t learn enough about their bikes so that, when the time comes, they can accurately describe what the bike is or isn’t doing. The issue then becomes not a question of ignorance, but of laziness. My patience for ignorance, while small, is larger than my patience for laziness. Just pay attention to your fucking bike and listen to the words coming out my mouth, and we’ll be just fine.
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