I have a friend. I feel badly for him. He is what many would call clumsy. His affliction goes beyond that in real terms but for the purposes of this discussion it is a good enough term.
Now this guy, friend-x, wanted a road bike. He's a tall fellow and does not have a lot of liquid capital. Ok, he doesn't have any capital tied up in stocks and bonds either. He is just kind of broke. So, whereas he is poor, tall and a Friend of Mine and whereas I had a nice 61cm Peugeot frame (from AFTER they converted to "normal" sizes and threadings) it was resolved that I would make a gift of this frame and various bits to make about 75% of a bicycle to Friend-X. It was so done. He took the bike and a hundred and seventy five bucks to the campus bike shop and emerged with a fully functional, rideable price of Vintage Steel. It is at this EXACT point that things take a turn for the worse. He adjusted the fork-holders on his Thule roof racks, put the bike up and drove home. He went for a ride right then, even though it was cold and dark and rainy. He loved it even if it was just for a short ride. He ws hooked on his "roadbike". I was pleased.
Naturally, at the first chance that I got for us to take advantage of our flexible schedules and unseasonably warm weather, I invited him to go for a ride. We were to meet at a local sub shop and go from there. I arrived later than Friend-X. As I pulled into the parking lot I saw him standing nest to the car futzing with the bike. She look good up there. She looked tall and elegant and sexy. She was ready to go. She was whole! Turns out that she was bent!
Yep. Somehow, the left forkleg had come loose from the clam, wedging the left leg in the holder. The weight of the bike waggling back and forth for the whole ride bent the drop out. A lot. I don't know how it didn't snap! So ended our bike ride and began our quest to get the thing fixed! Naturally we tried the LBS. Closed on Wednesday. That was OK because they kinda suck any way. Now what? Well, when my MTB broke the chain I brought i t to the Bicycle Shop of Topsfield. They did a great job fixing it and impressed me in general as a rider's shop. I called them up and they agreed to drop every thing and see about fixing this up for us. Hum, we might be able to salvage a ride before dark yet...
So, we drove over. It not a short drive. Cost about $7 in fuel. We walked in and the man working there take a look at it. "It's bad", he tells us. Not to worry. He has a guy who works for him who is a machinist. That guy will be in tomorrow and they can have it fixed up for less than twenty bucks. Friend-X says "Humm". He thanks them for their time and collects his bent-ass bicycle and we leave. My blood presure spiked just a little
bit. As we walked to the car I inquiered why we were not getting his fork fixed. I was going to pay for it at that point! he ruined my bike, my gift and my fun! I wanted that bike fixed almost as much as if it had been my own (still). That was, surpprizingly, NOT the reason! He wanted to bring it to a bike shop closer to his house. Now, I can understand this. It makes sense. Of course THIS shop was about 8 miles from his house. Not that far, but the closer one was, well, closer. Or at least it used to be.
Once upon a time there was a bike shop. It had an address and a phone number on the internet. The address was plugged into the GPS and off we went. We tried to call. I was told "There was something wrong with their phone". Ah, the power of pure hope! As we drove on, the "we" manning the phone turned to "I" and when "I" tried to call "I" discovered that the problem with the bike shop's phone was that it was "disconnected". The bike shop that was closer, the bike shop that was better, was a figment of Friend-X's imagination. I had one more trick up my sleeve.
Some say he was born on a bicycle being peddled through the south of France. Some say that his internals are all bike gears except for his tongue. All I know is that he is called Ed. Ed runs Cycle Re-Cycle in Haverhill. He does two things very well: he talks and he fixed bicycles. It was to him that I brought my goofy friend and his twisted fork. When we got there the sign said Open but the locked door said "Closed". The 'shop" is a windowless barn next to the house. There was no way to check inside other than calling so call I did. He was in the house. For less than a minuet Quick as a wink he was out in the yard talking to us. He was on his way out. He had no space to leave it. Could we bring it back tomorrow? "Oh sure" said I. "where are you going"? I asked. Well, that question led to more and more talking and next thing e knew he had us in the shop and was using some sort of Magical Wizard Tool to make every thing alright on my buddy's fork. Five Bucks.
We never got our ride in that day, and haven't gotten the chance to go since. Never the less we had an adventure and I got to spend the afternoon with a good, if slightly clumsy, friend. X.
Now this guy, friend-x, wanted a road bike. He's a tall fellow and does not have a lot of liquid capital. Ok, he doesn't have any capital tied up in stocks and bonds either. He is just kind of broke. So, whereas he is poor, tall and a Friend of Mine and whereas I had a nice 61cm Peugeot frame (from AFTER they converted to "normal" sizes and threadings) it was resolved that I would make a gift of this frame and various bits to make about 75% of a bicycle to Friend-X. It was so done. He took the bike and a hundred and seventy five bucks to the campus bike shop and emerged with a fully functional, rideable price of Vintage Steel. It is at this EXACT point that things take a turn for the worse. He adjusted the fork-holders on his Thule roof racks, put the bike up and drove home. He went for a ride right then, even though it was cold and dark and rainy. He loved it even if it was just for a short ride. He ws hooked on his "roadbike". I was pleased.
Naturally, at the first chance that I got for us to take advantage of our flexible schedules and unseasonably warm weather, I invited him to go for a ride. We were to meet at a local sub shop and go from there. I arrived later than Friend-X. As I pulled into the parking lot I saw him standing nest to the car futzing with the bike. She look good up there. She looked tall and elegant and sexy. She was ready to go. She was whole! Turns out that she was bent!
Yep. Somehow, the left forkleg had come loose from the clam, wedging the left leg in the holder. The weight of the bike waggling back and forth for the whole ride bent the drop out. A lot. I don't know how it didn't snap! So ended our bike ride and began our quest to get the thing fixed! Naturally we tried the LBS. Closed on Wednesday. That was OK because they kinda suck any way. Now what? Well, when my MTB broke the chain I brought i t to the Bicycle Shop of Topsfield. They did a great job fixing it and impressed me in general as a rider's shop. I called them up and they agreed to drop every thing and see about fixing this up for us. Hum, we might be able to salvage a ride before dark yet...
So, we drove over. It not a short drive. Cost about $7 in fuel. We walked in and the man working there take a look at it. "It's bad", he tells us. Not to worry. He has a guy who works for him who is a machinist. That guy will be in tomorrow and they can have it fixed up for less than twenty bucks. Friend-X says "Humm". He thanks them for their time and collects his bent-ass bicycle and we leave. My blood presure spiked just a little
bit. As we walked to the car I inquiered why we were not getting his fork fixed. I was going to pay for it at that point! he ruined my bike, my gift and my fun! I wanted that bike fixed almost as much as if it had been my own (still). That was, surpprizingly, NOT the reason! He wanted to bring it to a bike shop closer to his house. Now, I can understand this. It makes sense. Of course THIS shop was about 8 miles from his house. Not that far, but the closer one was, well, closer. Or at least it used to be.
Once upon a time there was a bike shop. It had an address and a phone number on the internet. The address was plugged into the GPS and off we went. We tried to call. I was told "There was something wrong with their phone". Ah, the power of pure hope! As we drove on, the "we" manning the phone turned to "I" and when "I" tried to call "I" discovered that the problem with the bike shop's phone was that it was "disconnected". The bike shop that was closer, the bike shop that was better, was a figment of Friend-X's imagination. I had one more trick up my sleeve.
Some say he was born on a bicycle being peddled through the south of France. Some say that his internals are all bike gears except for his tongue. All I know is that he is called Ed. Ed runs Cycle Re-Cycle in Haverhill. He does two things very well: he talks and he fixed bicycles. It was to him that I brought my goofy friend and his twisted fork. When we got there the sign said Open but the locked door said "Closed". The 'shop" is a windowless barn next to the house. There was no way to check inside other than calling so call I did. He was in the house. For less than a minuet Quick as a wink he was out in the yard talking to us. He was on his way out. He had no space to leave it. Could we bring it back tomorrow? "Oh sure" said I. "where are you going"? I asked. Well, that question led to more and more talking and next thing e knew he had us in the shop and was using some sort of Magical Wizard Tool to make every thing alright on my buddy's fork. Five Bucks.
We never got our ride in that day, and haven't gotten the chance to go since. Never the less we had an adventure and I got to spend the afternoon with a good, if slightly clumsy, friend. X.
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