Jesus fuck, where to start. Well, let's go a long way back, to establish a baseline for bitchiness in the bike industry. I'm reading The Dancing Chain, by Frank Berto. Amazing book. Really well done, very complete look at the evolution of the bicycle drivetrain. A little on the geeky side, but I'm into that kind of thing.
It didn't take long to realize that there isn't a lot that's been truly new on a bike's drivetrain for a LONG time. The Frenchies were experimenting with derailleurs that look remarkably like today's in the early 1900s. Since then, it's been a steady progression of adding gears. Most of the changes we note (e.g. wider rear hubs/dropouts) were and are the result of accommodating more gears. So what. So my point is, even way back then, there were the retro grouches who bitched about the additional gears, and planned obsolescence, and they were debating whether or not cycling was a feat of physical fitness or a technological contest. Change some of the details, and you have today's stupid fucks forever bitching about the rise of disc brakes on road bikes.
Which brings us back to BBs, and importantly, to the process of evolution. Let's start with evolution. I'm going to simplify the shit out of this, because it's been a long time since I used my completely worthless biology degree (yes, I really have one), and because I trust if I get anything too wrong, some pedantic douchebag will be happy to correct me in the comments.
If we tear away all the details, evolution is change in the frequency of expressed genes, or stated another way, it is change in how often we "see" different traits expressed. With humans, those traits are things like hair color or height or cranial capacity, and what we "see" as humans evolve is an increase in cranial capacity and an increase in height. Why? Because those traits conferred a competitive advantage over humans who didn't have them.
Bottom brackets. Starting way back, we have the cottered crank. This was a round spindle with a keyway machined into it. The crankarm had a corresponding round hole and keyway. The crankarm slipped loosely over the spindle, and the cotter was hammered into place and bolted tight to keep it tight. For those lucky enough to have worked on cottered cranks, you know their weaknesses: the cotters need to be tightened regularly, are prone to rusting in place or otherwise getting stuck, and the whole system is flexy. When those old farts got sick of dealing with those limitations, they developed the square taper bottom bracket, in which the crankarm features a tapered, square hole, and the BB spindle a corresponding square taper. The crankarm is fitted over the spindle and a bolt pushes the crankarm tightly onto the spindle.
Thus, we are introduced to the first significant branch on the evolutionary tree of bottom bracket standards. To the "left," we have cottered cranks, based on a loose fit held in place with a key, and to the "right," we have square taper cranks, held in place by friction generated by pressing the tapered hole of the crankarm onto the tapered spindle.
Why? The evolutionary pressure most easily identified as resulting in this change is durability. Properly maintained, a square taper BB/crank requires much less maintenance than a cottered system. Secondarily, you might argue the system is stiffer, but I have no data to support that claim. In any case, the result was and is that the square taper system became virtually ubiquitous, and the cottered system all but became extinct.
Next post, we'll keep working our way up the tree to talk about why ISIS is just another version of the ol' square taper BB system.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
Road Disc Brakes and Whiners
I'm surprised the discussion around road disc brakes has taken this long to raise my ire high enough to overcome my apathy and lethargy, but it finally has. As reported on VeloNews, Bike Rumor, and elsewhere, Zipp has introduced a disc version of their 303, both in full carbon clincher and tubular versions. As of now, it is not a disc-specific version of the rim, leading to much speculation about future generations of the wheel. In addition to this the Ultra New SRAM Red is going to 11, and will feature hydro disc brakes.
I don't know why, but I cannot help reading the comments sections on these blogs. Never has it done anything other than make me angry at the ignorance of those readers who have enough energy and misguided passion to spew their filth, comfortable in the anonymity offered by the interwebs (at least on Bike Rumor; VeloNews comments are tied to a Facebook profile, which is better than nothing, but close enough to anonymous). I spent a solid half hour reading through the comments of readers as they vomited about the inferiority of road discs, how they are a solution to a problem that doesn't exist, and how unfair it is that SRAM has the audacity to introduce new products when they just introduced new products LAST YEAR. I'll address these in turn:
1. The Inferiority of Disc Brakes on a Road Bike
The argument usually goes like this, "I once read this blog post about a guy who crashed really hard because he was riding a road bike with disc brakes and they failed." Most often, this argument is backed by an argument about issues of heat dissipation.
The issue of heat dissipation is a valid one, and one I don't believe has been totally addressed by the road disc technology we've seen thus far (I do not include the Ultra New Red hydros in this, because I haven't read any reviews of them yet), but heat dissipation was long ago addressed by mountain disc technology. I cannot recall the last time I read a negative review of a mtb brake due to heat fade, although that was a frequent issue with first and second generations of mtn hydro brakes. If road brakes are not there yet with respect to heat management, they will get there.
How? My predictions: consumers or brands or both will recognize that a 140mm rotor on the front is not adequate. It may provide plenty of stopping power, but the shorter circumference (read smaller surface area, which is directly related to heat dissipation) and decreased mass are an insufficient heat sink. 160mm is will be the standard, at least in the front where it matters more.
Shimano has spent considerable resources developing heat dissipation technology. By almost all accounts, their mtb disc brakes are excellent. Other brands will follow suit, developing things like finned rotors, mixed-metal rotors, and radiators on calipers. All this technology exists and has been proven on mtb discs. It's only a matter of time before material and manufacturing technology advance enough to make weights acceptable for road bikes.
2. The Disc Brake Solves a Problem That Doesn't Exist
Argument: "I can already lock up the tires on my road bike with the caliper brakes. Why would I need discs?"
Superficially, the argument is sound - road calipers are already strong enough to lock up the tires - for the science geeks out there, there are two types of friction: static and sliding. Static friction means the parts are stationary relative to each other. Sliding friction means they're...well... sliding. Simplistic explanation, but adequate for this discussion. The force of static friction is always greater than the force of sliding friction, i.e. if you're locking up your tires, you are not slowing as quickly as possibly, no matter what.
The problem with this argument is it assumes an ideal environment, in which things like moisture and temperature are not considered, and in which the only variable being considered the the power of the brake. It's just an inadequate way of evaluating the performance of a brake.
Consider modulation. This is the ability to apply the brakes such that you do NOT lock up the wheels. Thought of another way, it is the ability to finely adjust the amount of stopping power. Better modulation means finer control over that power; worse modulation means poorer control over it. In the olden days, when brakes had poor modulation, it was said they were either on or off. Modulation is arguably a more important performance variable than power. As many point out. nearly all braking systems on all bikes are now powerful enough to lock up the tires. Other performance variables to improve are durability (never a high priority because if something lasts forever, you only sell it once), and modulation. So, modulation gets better, and we're all safer and happier.
This argument also disregards the other components affected by moving the brake from the rim to the hub. Most importantly, if a rim doesn't need a brake track, it can either be made lighter, or stronger at the same weight. Either is better, as you're moving mass from the outside of the wheel, where it's harder to get it moving, to the center of the wheel, where it's easier.
I know what you're going to say here. "They still can't make a disc wheelset and hydro disc brake set that together are lighter than current road wheels and brake systems." True, but they will. If there is an Axiom of The Bike Industry, it is that parts will always get lighter.
3. How Dare SRAM Introduce New Products When They Just Did So Last Year
What? Are you fucking kidding me? I was blown away by these whiners out there. "I'm so pissed because I just bough New Red, and now there Ultra New Red, and my Old Red sucks." No, it doesn't. Your 2013 Red is exactly as good as it was when you bought, minus the usual wear and tear. It is your perception of it that changed. New products come out annually, and it's been that way forever in the bike industry. Maybe that another Axiom of The Bike Industry: brands will always come out with something newer and better.
What's even more interesting to me is that the arguments and complaints themselves haven't changed at all. Every time a gear is added, people bitch because their old stuff won't work with new stuff. Every time a new tool is required, mechanics bitch because they need to buy a new tool. Every time a new technology is introduced, people are adamant that it CANNOT be as good as the old, tried and true technology. Read "The Dancing Chain" by Frank Berto. People bitched when they were figuring out how to offer two gears on a fixed gear bike!
Look, I'm not an early adopter. My mtb had to be stolen before I considered moving to a 10 speed setup, and the same is true of my road bike and 11 speeds. I'm not a racer, and on those occasions when I decide racing would be a good, if misguided, idea, I'm not nearly fast enough to push the performance envelope of my equipment. For a guy like me, and for 98% of the bike industry, this is true, no matter what we or the market departments tell us. It just. Doesn't. Matter.
But, as I have said in previous posts, things are better now. Even when we disregard mushy variable around performance, we can agree that it is safer to not have to move your hands to shift your gears or apply your brakes. Conceding diminishing returns, it is easier to pedal a lighter bike. Metals and manufacturing are improved, so pieces like spokes and rims are stronger. They're better. Taken care of properly, there is not reason a bike of reasonable quality, with the appropriate maintenance, cannot last forever. Yes, by the time you die, the only pieces of original equipment might be the frame and handlebars, but hey, it's the same soul, isn't it?
Just ride your fucking bike, OK? Just ride it, and love it.
I don't know why, but I cannot help reading the comments sections on these blogs. Never has it done anything other than make me angry at the ignorance of those readers who have enough energy and misguided passion to spew their filth, comfortable in the anonymity offered by the interwebs (at least on Bike Rumor; VeloNews comments are tied to a Facebook profile, which is better than nothing, but close enough to anonymous). I spent a solid half hour reading through the comments of readers as they vomited about the inferiority of road discs, how they are a solution to a problem that doesn't exist, and how unfair it is that SRAM has the audacity to introduce new products when they just introduced new products LAST YEAR. I'll address these in turn:
1. The Inferiority of Disc Brakes on a Road Bike
The argument usually goes like this, "I once read this blog post about a guy who crashed really hard because he was riding a road bike with disc brakes and they failed." Most often, this argument is backed by an argument about issues of heat dissipation.
The issue of heat dissipation is a valid one, and one I don't believe has been totally addressed by the road disc technology we've seen thus far (I do not include the Ultra New Red hydros in this, because I haven't read any reviews of them yet), but heat dissipation was long ago addressed by mountain disc technology. I cannot recall the last time I read a negative review of a mtb brake due to heat fade, although that was a frequent issue with first and second generations of mtn hydro brakes. If road brakes are not there yet with respect to heat management, they will get there.
How? My predictions: consumers or brands or both will recognize that a 140mm rotor on the front is not adequate. It may provide plenty of stopping power, but the shorter circumference (read smaller surface area, which is directly related to heat dissipation) and decreased mass are an insufficient heat sink. 160mm is will be the standard, at least in the front where it matters more.
Shimano has spent considerable resources developing heat dissipation technology. By almost all accounts, their mtb disc brakes are excellent. Other brands will follow suit, developing things like finned rotors, mixed-metal rotors, and radiators on calipers. All this technology exists and has been proven on mtb discs. It's only a matter of time before material and manufacturing technology advance enough to make weights acceptable for road bikes.
2. The Disc Brake Solves a Problem That Doesn't Exist
Argument: "I can already lock up the tires on my road bike with the caliper brakes. Why would I need discs?"
Superficially, the argument is sound - road calipers are already strong enough to lock up the tires - for the science geeks out there, there are two types of friction: static and sliding. Static friction means the parts are stationary relative to each other. Sliding friction means they're...well... sliding. Simplistic explanation, but adequate for this discussion. The force of static friction is always greater than the force of sliding friction, i.e. if you're locking up your tires, you are not slowing as quickly as possibly, no matter what.
The problem with this argument is it assumes an ideal environment, in which things like moisture and temperature are not considered, and in which the only variable being considered the the power of the brake. It's just an inadequate way of evaluating the performance of a brake.
Consider modulation. This is the ability to apply the brakes such that you do NOT lock up the wheels. Thought of another way, it is the ability to finely adjust the amount of stopping power. Better modulation means finer control over that power; worse modulation means poorer control over it. In the olden days, when brakes had poor modulation, it was said they were either on or off. Modulation is arguably a more important performance variable than power. As many point out. nearly all braking systems on all bikes are now powerful enough to lock up the tires. Other performance variables to improve are durability (never a high priority because if something lasts forever, you only sell it once), and modulation. So, modulation gets better, and we're all safer and happier.
This argument also disregards the other components affected by moving the brake from the rim to the hub. Most importantly, if a rim doesn't need a brake track, it can either be made lighter, or stronger at the same weight. Either is better, as you're moving mass from the outside of the wheel, where it's harder to get it moving, to the center of the wheel, where it's easier.
I know what you're going to say here. "They still can't make a disc wheelset and hydro disc brake set that together are lighter than current road wheels and brake systems." True, but they will. If there is an Axiom of The Bike Industry, it is that parts will always get lighter.
3. How Dare SRAM Introduce New Products When They Just Did So Last Year
What? Are you fucking kidding me? I was blown away by these whiners out there. "I'm so pissed because I just bough New Red, and now there Ultra New Red, and my Old Red sucks." No, it doesn't. Your 2013 Red is exactly as good as it was when you bought, minus the usual wear and tear. It is your perception of it that changed. New products come out annually, and it's been that way forever in the bike industry. Maybe that another Axiom of The Bike Industry: brands will always come out with something newer and better.
What's even more interesting to me is that the arguments and complaints themselves haven't changed at all. Every time a gear is added, people bitch because their old stuff won't work with new stuff. Every time a new tool is required, mechanics bitch because they need to buy a new tool. Every time a new technology is introduced, people are adamant that it CANNOT be as good as the old, tried and true technology. Read "The Dancing Chain" by Frank Berto. People bitched when they were figuring out how to offer two gears on a fixed gear bike!
Look, I'm not an early adopter. My mtb had to be stolen before I considered moving to a 10 speed setup, and the same is true of my road bike and 11 speeds. I'm not a racer, and on those occasions when I decide racing would be a good, if misguided, idea, I'm not nearly fast enough to push the performance envelope of my equipment. For a guy like me, and for 98% of the bike industry, this is true, no matter what we or the market departments tell us. It just. Doesn't. Matter.
But, as I have said in previous posts, things are better now. Even when we disregard mushy variable around performance, we can agree that it is safer to not have to move your hands to shift your gears or apply your brakes. Conceding diminishing returns, it is easier to pedal a lighter bike. Metals and manufacturing are improved, so pieces like spokes and rims are stronger. They're better. Taken care of properly, there is not reason a bike of reasonable quality, with the appropriate maintenance, cannot last forever. Yes, by the time you die, the only pieces of original equipment might be the frame and handlebars, but hey, it's the same soul, isn't it?
Just ride your fucking bike, OK? Just ride it, and love it.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Becoming the Old Guy
It's the slow season, so I don't have any regularly scheduled hours right now. I go in as needed to close up or to cover if somebody has jury duty or an early flight. I like it. I like having all my evenings and weekends off, no questions asked, and I'll like it fine when things pick up in another month and I start getting put back on the schedule. It's all good.
Last night, I was back in the shop for the first time in a little over a month. In my absence, we'd hired a new sales lady... Let's call her Gina. I introduced myself to her, explained my schedule, what my day job was, etc. I also met the new mechanic who will be doing our production stuff this summer - tune ups and the like. He took a good look at my ugly as shit bar bike, paying particular attention to the Dunelt chain guard and DIY chain tensioner, made by cutting down an old Shimano 600 rear derailleur so it's only got one pulley. I'd spent (foolishly?) a lot of time with a belt sander, taking off all extraneous bits of metal, making it nice and curvy. But I digress.
So I met the newbies, and got caught up with the old farts, and I thought about Dave. At the first shop I worked in, Dave was me. He was older, married, with a little girl. Dave was cool. He taught me how to hop on the back wheel of my old Specialized Hardrock. He taught me a couple tricks about fixing bikes, which I probably remember, but probably use often enough now that I forget which tricks were his and which came from the dozens of other wrenches I've worked with over the years. He tried to convince me that riding the 26 miles into work was doable, when the longest ride I'd ever taken to that point, on my ol' Hardrock, was 12 miles, on the flatasapancake gravel roads around my hometown. I didn't believe him, and never did it. He was cool, and he was nice to me when I didn't know shit about shit.
I realized last night, I could be Dave. Trivial as it sounds, I don't take the responsibility lightly. Fact is, I'm older and more experienced that a lot of these dipshits with whom I work. I've learned a thing or two, and I know how to teach. I try to be nice. I try to show the pleasure in doing a job right even where nobody looks. It matters. I heard secondhand that two of the others, Skippy and Al, had been chatting about who would be the first to befriend me on the Face Books. I don't know who won, but I'm "FBriends" with both of them. It's flattering.
Dave, wherever you are, I hope I do the job of being the Cool Old Guy justice.
Last night, I was back in the shop for the first time in a little over a month. In my absence, we'd hired a new sales lady... Let's call her Gina. I introduced myself to her, explained my schedule, what my day job was, etc. I also met the new mechanic who will be doing our production stuff this summer - tune ups and the like. He took a good look at my ugly as shit bar bike, paying particular attention to the Dunelt chain guard and DIY chain tensioner, made by cutting down an old Shimano 600 rear derailleur so it's only got one pulley. I'd spent (foolishly?) a lot of time with a belt sander, taking off all extraneous bits of metal, making it nice and curvy. But I digress.
So I met the newbies, and got caught up with the old farts, and I thought about Dave. At the first shop I worked in, Dave was me. He was older, married, with a little girl. Dave was cool. He taught me how to hop on the back wheel of my old Specialized Hardrock. He taught me a couple tricks about fixing bikes, which I probably remember, but probably use often enough now that I forget which tricks were his and which came from the dozens of other wrenches I've worked with over the years. He tried to convince me that riding the 26 miles into work was doable, when the longest ride I'd ever taken to that point, on my ol' Hardrock, was 12 miles, on the flatasapancake gravel roads around my hometown. I didn't believe him, and never did it. He was cool, and he was nice to me when I didn't know shit about shit.
I realized last night, I could be Dave. Trivial as it sounds, I don't take the responsibility lightly. Fact is, I'm older and more experienced that a lot of these dipshits with whom I work. I've learned a thing or two, and I know how to teach. I try to be nice. I try to show the pleasure in doing a job right even where nobody looks. It matters. I heard secondhand that two of the others, Skippy and Al, had been chatting about who would be the first to befriend me on the Face Books. I don't know who won, but I'm "FBriends" with both of them. It's flattering.
Dave, wherever you are, I hope I do the job of being the Cool Old Guy justice.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Fucking Electrical Tape...
Like many of you, I enjoy cycling blogs. But not as much as I enjoy reading and responding to the completely asinine comments posted thereunder. Recently, I decided to start the thread, commenting on a piece about Bilenky's AMAZING Wonder Woman Bike debuted at NAHBS. The bike is amazing! The paint job alone is estimated to be worth $3500 bucks. The attention to detail is unwavering.
Almost.
My gripe was, on a bike like that, where no detail is left untouched, the builder finished off the trick, two-tone bar tape with motherfucking black electrical tape. The exact same shit that holds down the confetti tape on my trusty LHT.
Seriously, this doesn't make me angry. It doesn't make me think less of Steve. It doesn't even really detract from the bike. What I can't believe is that, on a bike like that, the black electrical tape was deemed good enough. There is no other part of that bike that didn't get taken to the next level. Except the tape.
The other clever commentators did not agree with my assessment. One asked if I was a builder. Do I need to be a fucking builder to appreciate craftsmanship? The guys from Indy Fab posted a picture of Sven Nys. OK. When I see Sven's bike being displayed at NAHBS because it exhibits an mind-blowingly stunning level of craftsmanship, you'll have made a point. But, what was I expecting, posting on a fucking bike blog...
You have a right to ask what I would prefer. A few thoughts, in no particular order, or maybe in order of my personal preference:
1. A wrap of resin soaked thread. Think of the guides on a nice fly rod. Perfectly aligned, color coordinated, glossy finish, stunning
2. Good ol' super glue. This one may not work, as I don't know how well CVA sticks to the plastic tape used on the bike, but it's invisible. It would show a rejection of the status quo.
3. Something other than black? I'm less enthusiastic about this one, as I do believe that if it had to be electrical tape, black was the right color. Nah, disregard this one. If it had to be electrical tape, black was the right choice.
So there you have it. Me, an inglorious grease monkey, constantly flinging poo, criticizing a builder who shits more talent in a day than I can ever hope to possess.
But seriously, you take every other piece of that bike to the next level and leave the fucking black electrical tape...
Almost.
My gripe was, on a bike like that, where no detail is left untouched, the builder finished off the trick, two-tone bar tape with motherfucking black electrical tape. The exact same shit that holds down the confetti tape on my trusty LHT.
Seriously, this doesn't make me angry. It doesn't make me think less of Steve. It doesn't even really detract from the bike. What I can't believe is that, on a bike like that, the black electrical tape was deemed good enough. There is no other part of that bike that didn't get taken to the next level. Except the tape.
The other clever commentators did not agree with my assessment. One asked if I was a builder. Do I need to be a fucking builder to appreciate craftsmanship? The guys from Indy Fab posted a picture of Sven Nys. OK. When I see Sven's bike being displayed at NAHBS because it exhibits an mind-blowingly stunning level of craftsmanship, you'll have made a point. But, what was I expecting, posting on a fucking bike blog...
You have a right to ask what I would prefer. A few thoughts, in no particular order, or maybe in order of my personal preference:
1. A wrap of resin soaked thread. Think of the guides on a nice fly rod. Perfectly aligned, color coordinated, glossy finish, stunning
2. Good ol' super glue. This one may not work, as I don't know how well CVA sticks to the plastic tape used on the bike, but it's invisible. It would show a rejection of the status quo.
3. Something other than black? I'm less enthusiastic about this one, as I do believe that if it had to be electrical tape, black was the right color. Nah, disregard this one. If it had to be electrical tape, black was the right choice.
So there you have it. Me, an inglorious grease monkey, constantly flinging poo, criticizing a builder who shits more talent in a day than I can ever hope to possess.
But seriously, you take every other piece of that bike to the next level and leave the fucking black electrical tape...
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Death of the ABW?
Yes, I was Googling myself. In doing so, I came across this article:
http://www.outsideonline.com/outdoor-adventure/biking/The-Day-the-Insults-Died.html
in Outside Magazine. It's good. Outside's got some pretty good writers. And, for the most part, it's true. Depending of course on the shop, bike mechanics and shops are increasingly put on display, and the overtly aggressive/condescending/douchebag bike mechanic's days could be numbered, and that's not a bad thing.
I'm here to say all the things I cannot to the idiots across the counter from me. In person, I have to be polite and courteous, and I need to bite my tongue when you bring me your neglected bike and then question the quote I put together to fix it. I'm OK with this. I really am. For the most part, my customers are calm, understanding, and reasonable. Often, the worst reaction I have to deal with is a raised eyebrow and a "Wow, I didn't expect it to be that much," after which I explain to you how chains stretch and cogs wear and you nearly always understand and tell me to go ahead with the repair. And you're happy you did, because when you get your bike back, it works again, better than you remembered it could. Sometimes, you tell me it's just too much, and we back off on a couple things, and I do my best to educate you on what to expect, and I'm OK with this too. If it's not a safety issue, I'm pretty happy to do as little or as much as you want me to.
So where does the Angry Bike Wrench come from? The soul of the ABW lies in the disconnect in how we view bikes, and how you view your bike.
The ABW became a mechanic because he loved bikes and would tinker with them whether he got paid to do so or not. In middle school, he was dissatisfied with his Huffy, and did what he could to make it better. He quickly became frustrated with it, so he wandered into a bike shop and noticed what good bikes looked and felt like. He saved his dollars and bought one. Then he tinkered with that. When he couldn't fix it himself, he took it to the shop, where he pestered the crusty old mechanic to teach him a thing or two.
In high school, when mowing lawns wasn't cutting it any more, he asked the crusty old mechanic for a job. Crusty gave him a shot building kids' bikes. The ABW showed some aptitude. He got good at it. Crusty let him do a tune-up. The ABW got better at that too. Now he had skills. He still needed to look to Crusty for advice when he encountered something new, but for some reason, new info on bikes and how to fix them stuck in his head like other information didn't.
In college, fixing bikes paid for rent and booze. The ABW didn't need to look to others as often for advice on how to fix something. The way he thought had changed. He understood how things had to go together, so he know how they had to come apart. His eyes knew what looked right and what didn't, and without thinking, he paid attention to how parts were oriented so he could put them back the same way. Now, when presented with a part he hadn't worked on before, he had the mechanical foundation that allowed him to figure it out.
After college, the ABW didn't want to keep fixing bikes, but he was good at it, and when a "real" job wasn't quick in coming, he decided to get a gig at a shop, just to pay the bills, just until a real job came along. His service manage left in a huff, and because he was the most experienced mechanic, he fell into the job. The ABW learned business.
Outside the shop, years of riding had honed his senses. When riding, he could feel a shifter out of adjustment, and he could fix it without even thinking about it. He'd long ago ceased to give his bikes tune-ups, because maintenance of his personal fleet was constant. He lubed and wiped down his chains after almost every ride. He checked his cables, and a cable never went uncapped for longer than a ride. His bikes were never stored outside, ever. His bikes were tools, and some of them were bastards, but he loved and revered them, because they were his.
The ABW had learned to eat, sleep, breathe, and shit bikes. Without trying, they had become his life, and his life had grudgingly come to depend on them.
And now you walk into his shop, with your bike that you left locked to a parking meter over the winter, and you wonder why he sneers at you? You bring your bike in because it makes a funny sound when you squeeze the brakes, and you wonder why he's exasperated when he points out that your brake pads were worn out and needed to be replaced months ago, and now you've worn through the brake track on your rim and need to replace your wheel? Your tires are rotted and worn through to the casing, and you wonder why he rolls his eyes when you balk at a thirty dollar tire?
He takes it personally. He shouldn't, and he know he shouldn't, but he can't help it. Bikes are his life, and they should not be treated like this. That is the soul of the ABW and the fundamental reason it's so difficult for the ABW to relate to you and to your bike. The problem is, the ABW isn't good for business or for the industry. Belittling a customer is no way to win repeat business. At best, it pisses people off. At worst, it keeps people from having their bikes serviced, which means they don't enjoy riding their bike because it shifts like shit, so they don't ride as much, so they get fat and unhappy and don't buy any more bikes or service. It's a nasty, downward spiral.
So the ABW exists in all bike mechanics, because we have a fundamentally different perception of what bikes are and how they should be cared for. Good mechanics will temper their inner ABW. Great mechanics will use their ABW as inspiration to make your bike as good as is possible to show you how good it can be, so you learn to revere your bike like he does.
http://www.outsideonline.com/outdoor-adventure/biking/The-Day-the-Insults-Died.html
in Outside Magazine. It's good. Outside's got some pretty good writers. And, for the most part, it's true. Depending of course on the shop, bike mechanics and shops are increasingly put on display, and the overtly aggressive/condescending/douchebag bike mechanic's days could be numbered, and that's not a bad thing.
I'm here to say all the things I cannot to the idiots across the counter from me. In person, I have to be polite and courteous, and I need to bite my tongue when you bring me your neglected bike and then question the quote I put together to fix it. I'm OK with this. I really am. For the most part, my customers are calm, understanding, and reasonable. Often, the worst reaction I have to deal with is a raised eyebrow and a "Wow, I didn't expect it to be that much," after which I explain to you how chains stretch and cogs wear and you nearly always understand and tell me to go ahead with the repair. And you're happy you did, because when you get your bike back, it works again, better than you remembered it could. Sometimes, you tell me it's just too much, and we back off on a couple things, and I do my best to educate you on what to expect, and I'm OK with this too. If it's not a safety issue, I'm pretty happy to do as little or as much as you want me to.
So where does the Angry Bike Wrench come from? The soul of the ABW lies in the disconnect in how we view bikes, and how you view your bike.
The ABW became a mechanic because he loved bikes and would tinker with them whether he got paid to do so or not. In middle school, he was dissatisfied with his Huffy, and did what he could to make it better. He quickly became frustrated with it, so he wandered into a bike shop and noticed what good bikes looked and felt like. He saved his dollars and bought one. Then he tinkered with that. When he couldn't fix it himself, he took it to the shop, where he pestered the crusty old mechanic to teach him a thing or two.
In high school, when mowing lawns wasn't cutting it any more, he asked the crusty old mechanic for a job. Crusty gave him a shot building kids' bikes. The ABW showed some aptitude. He got good at it. Crusty let him do a tune-up. The ABW got better at that too. Now he had skills. He still needed to look to Crusty for advice when he encountered something new, but for some reason, new info on bikes and how to fix them stuck in his head like other information didn't.
In college, fixing bikes paid for rent and booze. The ABW didn't need to look to others as often for advice on how to fix something. The way he thought had changed. He understood how things had to go together, so he know how they had to come apart. His eyes knew what looked right and what didn't, and without thinking, he paid attention to how parts were oriented so he could put them back the same way. Now, when presented with a part he hadn't worked on before, he had the mechanical foundation that allowed him to figure it out.
After college, the ABW didn't want to keep fixing bikes, but he was good at it, and when a "real" job wasn't quick in coming, he decided to get a gig at a shop, just to pay the bills, just until a real job came along. His service manage left in a huff, and because he was the most experienced mechanic, he fell into the job. The ABW learned business.
Outside the shop, years of riding had honed his senses. When riding, he could feel a shifter out of adjustment, and he could fix it without even thinking about it. He'd long ago ceased to give his bikes tune-ups, because maintenance of his personal fleet was constant. He lubed and wiped down his chains after almost every ride. He checked his cables, and a cable never went uncapped for longer than a ride. His bikes were never stored outside, ever. His bikes were tools, and some of them were bastards, but he loved and revered them, because they were his.
The ABW had learned to eat, sleep, breathe, and shit bikes. Without trying, they had become his life, and his life had grudgingly come to depend on them.
And now you walk into his shop, with your bike that you left locked to a parking meter over the winter, and you wonder why he sneers at you? You bring your bike in because it makes a funny sound when you squeeze the brakes, and you wonder why he's exasperated when he points out that your brake pads were worn out and needed to be replaced months ago, and now you've worn through the brake track on your rim and need to replace your wheel? Your tires are rotted and worn through to the casing, and you wonder why he rolls his eyes when you balk at a thirty dollar tire?
He takes it personally. He shouldn't, and he know he shouldn't, but he can't help it. Bikes are his life, and they should not be treated like this. That is the soul of the ABW and the fundamental reason it's so difficult for the ABW to relate to you and to your bike. The problem is, the ABW isn't good for business or for the industry. Belittling a customer is no way to win repeat business. At best, it pisses people off. At worst, it keeps people from having their bikes serviced, which means they don't enjoy riding their bike because it shifts like shit, so they don't ride as much, so they get fat and unhappy and don't buy any more bikes or service. It's a nasty, downward spiral.
So the ABW exists in all bike mechanics, because we have a fundamentally different perception of what bikes are and how they should be cared for. Good mechanics will temper their inner ABW. Great mechanics will use their ABW as inspiration to make your bike as good as is possible to show you how good it can be, so you learn to revere your bike like he does.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
The Slow Season
The other day, I took 2 hours to do a 30 day check on a Trek 7.1 FX. I know what you're thinking, and I was not fucking the dog, as many would assume. I did all the usual things, but it being the slow season, I had time to do a couple things I would never take the time to do during the busy season. Usually, I'd tweak the wheels with them in the frame. This time, I put them in the truing stand. Tension off? I took the time to give each spoke half a turn and a lot of squeezes. Those are some of the best-tensioned wheels on a 7.1 FX.
We'd installed fenders on this one. I noticed the front brake cable, where it jumps across the fender from one brake arm to the other, was making contact with the fender. I checked the mounting hardware, and the fender was mounted as low as the slot would allow. No problem. I got out the Dremel and made the slot longer, dropped the fender a quarter inch, and no more contact. I would NEVER take the time to do that during the silly season.
Everything had the kind of dirt and grit you'd expect after about a month of riding in all conditions. We always wipe down the frame and wheels, but I took the time to fish the rag through all the nooks and crannies, around the chainstay bridge, behind the front derailleur, etc. That bike left cleaner than when it was new.
The same is true for tune-ups performed during the slow season. The bike gets cleaned better, the adjustments are more precise, and details that might be overlooked when we're slammed get attention. Don't procrastinate, and don't pay for a tune-up during the summer. Bring your bike to me in February, when my thumb is getting chapped because it's been up my ass for two months, and you'll get the best possible tune-up. Period.
We'd installed fenders on this one. I noticed the front brake cable, where it jumps across the fender from one brake arm to the other, was making contact with the fender. I checked the mounting hardware, and the fender was mounted as low as the slot would allow. No problem. I got out the Dremel and made the slot longer, dropped the fender a quarter inch, and no more contact. I would NEVER take the time to do that during the silly season.
Everything had the kind of dirt and grit you'd expect after about a month of riding in all conditions. We always wipe down the frame and wheels, but I took the time to fish the rag through all the nooks and crannies, around the chainstay bridge, behind the front derailleur, etc. That bike left cleaner than when it was new.
The same is true for tune-ups performed during the slow season. The bike gets cleaned better, the adjustments are more precise, and details that might be overlooked when we're slammed get attention. Don't procrastinate, and don't pay for a tune-up during the summer. Bring your bike to me in February, when my thumb is getting chapped because it's been up my ass for two months, and you'll get the best possible tune-up. Period.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Service Margin
In business, there are many ways of calculating profit, but if you distill any of them to their essence, it is this: money in versus money out. On the service side, the cost of doing business is parts, consumables like lube and rags, and overhead like rent and utilities. But those costs pale in comparison to payroll.
On the plus side is the amount you bring in for service, which in turn is the margin you're making on the parts your mechanics are installing, and the money you charge for fixing whatever needs fixing on your customers' bikes.
So if you want to calculate your service margin, you subtract the cost of doing business (overhead, payroll, cost of goods sold) from the gross brought in by the service department. This is an important metric. Too high, and it could be argued you're overcharging your clients or underpaying your mechanics (though not many managers will be uncomfortable with margins that are too high). Too low, and you're just not making money. Businesses that don't make money don't stick around very long.
I had a talk today with my service manager about our service margin. He explained that we could no longer track the amount of service our service writers were selling; that this metric had been important in the past.
I'm uncomfortable with this.
I'm uncomfortable because tracking this metric creates a very clear incentive to oversell service, which means you're going to be encouraging your clients to do things they may not need to do. This is how mechanics and service technicians of all disciplines get the reputation for being shady and ripping people off. This is how a person can go into one bike shop and get a $300 estimate, and desiring a second opinion, will be told by the next shop that it will only take $150 to fix his/her bike. It does not build trust.
Don't misunderstand me. I understand business, and I understand that, as long as I want raises, businesses have to grow. That includes the service side of a bike shop as well. I also understand that you cannot improve what you do not measure. As a mechanic, I want to know what my personal service margin is. I want to know how much I've made for the shop vs. how much the shop has spent to keep my grumpy ass behind the bench. And if that number isn't favorable, I'm going to get my ass in gear, voluntarily or otherwise.
So it seems we're at an impasse. How do you grow your service business without creating an incentive to oversell service? Bearing in mind I have no hard data to support this assertion (like most of the assertions I have), it's like this: when a customer approaches my service counter, I want to give him/her all the info s/he needs to make an informed decision about what we'll do to his/her bike. I want to give him a good/better/best, and an explanation of what happens after he decides. Don't want to replace the chain right now? OK, but you will likely be replacing your cassette the next time I see you. Don't want to replace chain and cassette? OK, but your shifting is going to suck, and there's nothing I can do about that. Don't want to clean and lube your chain? OK, but you'll be replacing it more often, at a greater expense. Any of these options are OK with me - it is, after all, your fucking bike. But if I recommend something and you say no, I want us both to understand what happens next. It's all about managing expectations.
Happily and more often than not, my customers do what I recommend. I replace a lot of chains and cassettes, and I do it with a clear conscience, because I know the safety and performance of my clients' bikes is better, which in turn will make their experiences more enjoyable.
But if my service manager ever tells me I need to start pushing my number, I'll tell him where to shove it.
On the plus side is the amount you bring in for service, which in turn is the margin you're making on the parts your mechanics are installing, and the money you charge for fixing whatever needs fixing on your customers' bikes.
So if you want to calculate your service margin, you subtract the cost of doing business (overhead, payroll, cost of goods sold) from the gross brought in by the service department. This is an important metric. Too high, and it could be argued you're overcharging your clients or underpaying your mechanics (though not many managers will be uncomfortable with margins that are too high). Too low, and you're just not making money. Businesses that don't make money don't stick around very long.
I had a talk today with my service manager about our service margin. He explained that we could no longer track the amount of service our service writers were selling; that this metric had been important in the past.
I'm uncomfortable with this.
I'm uncomfortable because tracking this metric creates a very clear incentive to oversell service, which means you're going to be encouraging your clients to do things they may not need to do. This is how mechanics and service technicians of all disciplines get the reputation for being shady and ripping people off. This is how a person can go into one bike shop and get a $300 estimate, and desiring a second opinion, will be told by the next shop that it will only take $150 to fix his/her bike. It does not build trust.
Don't misunderstand me. I understand business, and I understand that, as long as I want raises, businesses have to grow. That includes the service side of a bike shop as well. I also understand that you cannot improve what you do not measure. As a mechanic, I want to know what my personal service margin is. I want to know how much I've made for the shop vs. how much the shop has spent to keep my grumpy ass behind the bench. And if that number isn't favorable, I'm going to get my ass in gear, voluntarily or otherwise.
So it seems we're at an impasse. How do you grow your service business without creating an incentive to oversell service? Bearing in mind I have no hard data to support this assertion (like most of the assertions I have), it's like this: when a customer approaches my service counter, I want to give him/her all the info s/he needs to make an informed decision about what we'll do to his/her bike. I want to give him a good/better/best, and an explanation of what happens after he decides. Don't want to replace the chain right now? OK, but you will likely be replacing your cassette the next time I see you. Don't want to replace chain and cassette? OK, but your shifting is going to suck, and there's nothing I can do about that. Don't want to clean and lube your chain? OK, but you'll be replacing it more often, at a greater expense. Any of these options are OK with me - it is, after all, your fucking bike. But if I recommend something and you say no, I want us both to understand what happens next. It's all about managing expectations.
Happily and more often than not, my customers do what I recommend. I replace a lot of chains and cassettes, and I do it with a clear conscience, because I know the safety and performance of my clients' bikes is better, which in turn will make their experiences more enjoyable.
But if my service manager ever tells me I need to start pushing my number, I'll tell him where to shove it.
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