Repairs

When I became reacquainted with cycling after years of riding the same old bike only occasionally, my new devotion and equipment meant that I had to learn about a lot of new advances that had been made in the intervening years. Integrated headsets and shifters and new types of bottom brackets were just a few of the differences. Another difference lay within me -- I was more mature, and had learned the benefits of maintaining things, of prevention instead of intervention. I wanted to know how things worked so I could be self-sustaining and a better bike owner.

I also discovered another benefit of this virtuous-appearing stance, which was I could spend more time and money on bike stuff, from cables to tools to tires. I had another reason to visit the bike shops and bring gear home, whether it was a crank puller or some lube and tubes. I was a sustenance cyclist, and I was saving money in the long run, I told myself and my spousal unit.

The first piece of repair equipment I purchased was the big one, the repair stand. I got an inexpensive but sturdy stand, portable to an extent, and reliable. It has served me well. Then, I found a small basic tool kit, the kind meant for a traveling mechanic. This was fairly inexpensive, and gave me all the basic tools -- chain whip, bottom-bracket tool, cassette tool, and chain tool, to name a few. After getting crank pullers and tire levers, and a scrounging a few normal household tools (screwdrivers, cable cutters, and pliers) from my tool boxes, I was pretty much set. Oh, yes, and I needed a box of those cloth rags on a roll, and some good lubes and cleaners. And a box of latex gloves -- the latex gloves are vital to keeping a homespun repair approach viable, because if you have to scrub grease off your hands after every session, you will soon tire of it all.

I transformed part of my work room into a bike room -- well, OK, I transformed most of my work room into a bike room, relegating my work bench and standard tools to about 40% of the room. And I signed up for a repair class.

The local bike shop's repair class was very useful. As I mentioned, I had a lot to learn about the new bikes, and taking my new steed apart and putting it back together taught me a lot, with enough at stake that I truly paid attention and retained a lot of what I learned.

But hands-on, mistake-riddled home repairs proved to be my most important education. I can't recall any particularly bungled repairs or attempts at repairs with any shop pyrotechnics. I did have one bad outcome that taught me a lot about properly setting a chain pin. I had taken my chain off for cleaning, and put it back together, setting a new pin in place. I was a little careless, and didn't notice that it didn't seat quite completely (that magic little feeling of setting just right), and didn't visually examine it. I just set it and walked away. The next morning, six miles from the end of my longish commute, the chain popped. Lacking a replacement pin or anything that could substitute, I was forced to walk six miles pushing my bike. I have since switched to the chains that link using linking plates, so there is no doubt about the chain being whole.

I also briefly became the neighborhood shop, as people bought new bikes or spruced up their kids old bikes. This ended by and large, however, because their interest in bike maintenance lapsed. Now, in the spring, I will get a few calls asking me to go over a bike that has sat all winter or sounds odd when first taken out, but the issues are usually simple (lube or brake offsets are very common, new cables often are involved).

After about five years of privately repairing and maintaining my bike, it has become a part of the entire ritual, and I am quite adept at it, I feel. I can get in and out of my little shop, even for a major repair, without taking much time or breaking a sweat. I am also much better at on-road repairs and issues, seemingly having acquired a bit of a knack based on the work I've done at home, what I've read about, and practice through repetition. When stricken with a flat, I can get it fixed quickly and reliably. When a riding buddy has an issue, I can fix it, or at least explain what's going on so that we can fix it later if it's just a minor annoyance we can't fix well on the road. I even found myself serving in the role of medic after a riding buddy crashed, washing asphalt out of his wounds with my water bottle and checking his bike over before declaring it fit to ride again.

These new skills have even carried over into a renewed craftiness when faced with minor breakdowns in non-cycling life. While I've always been fairly handy, honing my skills with bike repairs also honed my handyman skills in other areas.

The mechanical side of cycling, aside from its sweet aesthetic and glorious simplicity, delivers great benefits. Taking responsibility for it has been a boon for me, and given me another dimension to enjoy as I speed down the road.

Grease

Bike grease. I can hear the words spoken with alarm and disdain, in my own voice and in the voices of my family. Bike grease! In the past, it has appeared as if by dark magic after seemingly pristine encounters with my bike, manifesting as stains on fingertips after merely being near a bike, on furniture after a thoughtless moment resting a bike against a couch on the way out the door, and on carpet after cleaning globules off a chain (and apparently on to my socks or shoes).

At first, the dogs were blamed, not for the grease but for the splotches on the carpets. Surely, I rationalized, the dogs must have tracked something in from the outdoors. But, upon closer inspection and after frustrating many of the normal cleaning aids, it became clear that another culprit was to blame, and that I and my bike habit were closely associated with it. The spousal unit was not pleased.

The solutions were urgently sought and relatively simple, but required some diligence to implement routinely. First, a pair of slip on shoes (ala crocs) were purchased, and these used exclusively in my bike room. Second, a grease-absorbing mat was placed beneath my bike stand to catch the stuff and keep it from moving around on the floor. Finally, a box of latex gloves was purchased from the local hardware mega-store to keep my hands clean.

The essential nature of grease in bicycling is clear -- it lubricates moving parts and keeps water and dirt in check to some degree. But choosing the right lubricant usually does not involve grease, per se. In fact, most modern lubricants are synthetic blends of super-particles, some for airliners, others for race cars. I think that in this case the substance dubbed "grease" emerges after the lubricants are polluted with grime, dirt, and grit, resulting in sticky black surfaces that, when turned into globules or wiped clean, expel the grease we dread.

Removing grease from a bike can be a challenge. Getting it off the chain usually requires giving the links a bath in some degreaser, and then a careful wipe down. Eliminating grease from the rear derailleur is often an overlooked chore, but essential to a properly functioning drivetrain. Grease tends to gunk up these small sprockets, and a carefully wielded screwdriver tip or mascara brush (cleaned first and then dipped in degreaser) will do the trick. Other components (bottom bracket, wheel rims, and front derailleur) are important to clean now and again, as well, but to me the chain and rear derailleur are the most regular recipients of grease maintenance.

Of course, grease can wander from Point A to Point B (or well beyond) through innocent actions, despite the preceding precautions. The most likely culprit is the careless hand. Even in gloves, an itchy nose, a reflexive grip on the bike seat, or a habitual wiping of hands on garments can result in unpleasant and surprising outcomes. The nose is a particular problem, as you can't see what you've done, but spouses and children take enormous glee in the result. The other problems reinforce to me why bike shorts are black. Fighting with a skipped chain on the side of the road will get your hands greasy, and black cycling shorts can be a great and discrete towel.

Perhaps someday some engineering or materials science genius will invent a lubricant that is inexpensive, incredibly effective, long-lasting, and non-staining, even when beset with road crud. Until that day comes, we have with us always the necessary but problematic companion we call grease. And it will remain a challenge to keep it on your bike!

The Wrong Reasons

As someone who commutes by bike, I'm occasionally assumed to ride for all the right reasons. In some cases, I'm taken to be a fervent environmentalist, commuting by bike to save the world from the impending doom of global warming. In other cases, I'm granted the qualities of a health fanatic, someone who rides many miles most days in order to extend my life and heighten my health. Finally, more pragmatic types think that commuting by bike must save time and/or money, and attribute my riding to shrewd calculations and logistical insights. In each case, there is a reason beyond riding itself that makes me commute by bike. After all, why else would someone choose as laborious and difficult a way to get to work? I must have higher ideals driving my decisions, these people seem to assume.

The fact is that I don't have any real higher ideals that make me cycle to work. I just plain like it. I have done a bit of the math, and I think it actually costs me more to bike to work than it would to drive. At an assumed fully loaded rate of US$0.45 per mile, it costs me about $27 per day to drive round-trip to and from work. With all the extra food, drink, and equipment I have for bicycle commuting, the laundry for the bicycle clothes, and the amortized costs of my bike, I think I'm coming out just about even. After all, two bottles of decent hydration can run US$6 by themselves, and I need two each way, so there's US$12 right there! Add to that the extra breakfast when I arrive, the gels on the way home, and the extra food at dinner to replenish after what is a relatively long commute (about 27 miles each way), and we're just about in the same ballpark. I may save some money, but it's not hundreds of dollars a season, more like tens, and probably in the lower range all tolled.

Global warming isn't the reason, either. I think I've done my homework here, as well, and despite the Oscar-winning histrionics of An Inconvenient Truth, the facts seem that global warming may be something that the globe is just doing, with a little human embellishment occurring right now as icing (no pun intended) on the cake. In fact, it's a very complicated planet,we seem less significant than we want to believe, and our computer models and investigations of empirical evidence yield rather crude predictions about where we're headed. Some pollution cools the planet, other types warm it a bit, but human ingenuity is probably our best bet for getting us to move away from fossil fuels. I personally would love a solar-charged electric car that would be cheaper, quieter, and more efficient. I think nearly everyone would. But bikes aren't a practical response.

My health may be part of the reason, but again, I could be almost more healthy by not commuting by bike. Small particulate air pollution is at its densest in the middle of a road -- so, if you're breathing in a car all the time, you're breathing in a lot of small particles -- but it's nearly as dense on the shoulders. Breathing around traffic at a higher rate and more deeply due to cycling probably doesn't do my lungs many favors. In addition, the cardio benefits of 2-3 more rides per week by commuting versus just riding on the weekends are probably marginal. If fitness were my goal, I could probably achieve all I need without commuting by bike.

And I don't commute by bike to save time. While there are days when commuting by bike is nearly as fast as driving, due to traffic congestion, it's unpredictable. Usually, I'm about 15-20 minutes longer on the bike, and sometimes have dinner warmed over.

No, I have to admit, I like commuting by bike because it's pleasant for many months of the year. I arrive at work mentally refreshed, calm, and at peace. My energy level is good, and I have a better attitude and perspective on things thanks to 75 minutes of trees, pedaling, concentration, and free thinking, combined into a commute. Commuting by bike is fun. It's purely selfish. I commute by bike for all the wrong reasons. And that's good enough for me.

Waiting

It happens more often than I'd care to admit, especially in the fall and spring, when the peak of the day is the best time to ride and mornings are not yet amenable to a dawn spin (too cold, too icy, too dark) -- I end up waiting for my ride time.

In the summer, early rides spare me the anxiety of waiting. I can sneak out of the house while others are asleep, and arrive home just as they are rubbing the sleep from their eyes. There is no inconvenience, no competition for time, and no trade-offs. My devotion to cycling is as inconsequential to them as it can be. I am just a few noises in the drowsy morning, a couple of hours of quiet, and then more rattling and steps as I return home. I am barely noticeable.

During the times of the year when sunlight and temperatures are most bearable at the peak of the day, competition for time slots becomes keener, and my riding is the subject of negotiations that often begin mid-week, with blanket pronouncements about my intentions to get in 1-2 rides over the weekend, blatant interpretations that the weather forecast supports my plans, clear hints that riding is part of the weekend plans, and so on. In order to be strategic, I initially have to perform some quiet reconnaissance of the field of battle, usually by inquiring about the planned and/or required activities of the upcoming weekend. Once having surveyed the terrain ahead, I can begin to plot where and when I will strike, and the games begin.

All this said, my family is remarkably supportive of my cycling, as I think they know it is my primary passion as an individual. Given the amounts of time I spend on homework, evenings out, my own career, their activities, and in the inevitable downtime parenting brings (waiting, watching, and worrying), I am grateful that my escapades are as integrated as they are.

Waiting for that magic, negotiated spot in the day can be fraught with anxiety. Clouds scud across the sun, threatening to blot out the warming sun and bring along a punishing, cold wind. Temperature fluctuations become worrisome, as dressing for these mixed seasons can be tricky at best, and unpredictable temperatures make the job a bit more difficult. The hours tick by, and you fret about whether your ride window will remain open, the air will be warm, the sky sunny, and the ride long enough.

It is the season of waiting -- waiting to begin the negotiations, waiting for the weather, waiting for the right days to emerge, waiting for the right hours to be set aside, waiting. But once the road and tires meet, the waiting is over. It was worth the wait.