A few years ago I bought a road bicycle using my tax refund. A road bicycle, for those that don't know, is the type of bicycle that has the curly handlebars (that's the highly technical term) and are ridden by people in suggestively-tight spandex/lycra shorts like the guys that do the Tour De France. Of course most riders aren't in any type of shape like those riders so their beer guts spill over the side of the suggestively-tight spandex/lycra shorts.
Prior to purchasing the road bicycle I had been riding a hybrid bicycle, which is a cross between a mountain bicycle and a road bicycle, meaning that it does neither function very well. Hybrid bicycles were created by the bicycle industry several years ago to create a market for people who didn't really need a mountain bicycle or a road bicycle, i.e. people who have lost their driver's licenses due to a DWI and need reliable transportation back and forth to the liquor store.
When I was a kid there was no such thing as a hybrid bicycle. I owned a road bicycle, but at that time you wouldn't be caught dead wearing suggestively-tight shorts, an obnoxious high-vis yellow shirt, or a helmet. Those were for dorks. They still are, but the dorks are alive and riding safely at least. I remember riding 50 miles around Canandaigua Lake with a friend as a kid and using none of those things. Now I wouldn't ride down the street without dressing like a flourescent bumble bee, thighs stuffed like black sausages, with a mushroom cap helmet.
After purchasing the road bicycle a few years ago I started riding a lot. At first I remember being excited that I rode 20 miles. I came into work the next day and bragged to co-workers. Then the rides became 25 miles, 30 miles, 40 miles, and more. And of course I continued bragging to my couch potato co-workers. In fact I lost so much weight from riding that several co-workers became concerned and asked how I was doing. They seemed to think I was dying from cancer or some other horrible, fatal disease. They were all very relieved when they found out that I had simply become addicted to wearing suggestively-tight spandex/lycra shorts, flourescent bumble-bee shirts, and mushroom cap helmets.
Because of the number of miles that I was riding each week I decided to learn how to do my own bicycle maintanence. Not only the stuff that you need to know while out on the road, such as how to change a flat tire and simple brake adjustments, but also more difficult things like setting and adjusting the derailleurs (there's about 5 ways to spell that word, so hopefully I chose one of the correct options), changing cables, adjusting the breaks, setting and adjusting the headset and handlebars, etc. I draw the line at something that involves an expensive tool that I'd only use once a year, although I did buy a tire stand to true the wheels.
You have to keep in mind that I have a horrible mechanical sense, and for automobiles I can barely change the windshield washer fluid competently. In fact, I remember once where I poured the windshield washer fluid into the coolant reserve, which, luckily, did not result in the car blowing up. I have in the past changed burned-out light bulbs, but that usually ends up with my hands being cut and bloodied. I do know how to pop the hood, prop it open, and stare at the engine while stroking my chin in the appearance that I know what the hell I'm looking at. Anything more complex I leave to the mechanics.
The reasons I decided to do my own bicycle maintenance are two-fold: 1) I ride a lot and don't want to wait until the bike shop can finish a repair, 2) I'm a cheap bastard and don't want to pay the bike shop for something I can do myself. Number 2 is actually an overriding theme for my life. I'll spend 3 hours online searching for a cheap birdfeeder, for example, just so I can save $5 from buying it at a local store. Then I bask in the glow of my thrifty prudence in making such a clever purchase. The end result, though, is that usually it takes 2 weeks for the item to be delivered, and I end up getting in an argument with FedEx or UPS for dropping it off at the wrong building entrace. In other words I save $5 on price and accumulate about $20 in aggravation.
I bought a bicycle repair stand in order to facilitate my DIY maintenance. So far I've adjusted the derailleurs (sp?), adjusted the headset, adjusted the brakes, changed the chain, adjusted the handlebars and shifters, trued my wheels, etc. Nothing particularly complex. Yet I have a knack for turning the simple into the complex.
For example, when adjusting the derailleur (sp?) I usually start with a minor rattle or a slightly sluggish shift, and end up with the chain either getting thrown completely off of the cassette (the gears in the back) and the shifting ending up 10 times worse. One time I made so many adjustments to the slack on the cable that I cut it too short, and had to pull out the old cable, make two trips to the bike shop to buy a new cable (first one was too short), and then re-thread a new cable and re-adjust the derailleur (sp?) from scratch. I accomplished in 3 hours what a bike shop could have done in 10 minutes for about $15.
I usually end up caked in grease and bloodied at the end of a maintenance session. My Zen-like tranquility of everyday life is replaced by screaming, cursing, and pulsing veins, with tools thrown and nuts and bolts rolling under other objects, out of site and reach. It doesn't help that my repair room is my spare bedroom which is also where I have my cats' (yes, that's plural) litter boxes. The various bike parts, after having flown from the bike or from my hands, land on the ground and roll, coating themselves in kitty litter much like a chicken drumstick coated in bread crumbs.
The cats themselves have to get locked out of the room while I'm doing the work. Being naturally curious they'll mill around to see what I'm doing. Meaning that they are in direct fire of greasy nuts and bolts recently sprung from the bike, tools flying from my hands, and curses and invectives flying from my mouth. Bad enough to have to clean the cat litter from the parts, I don't need them coated in cat hair also.
An attempt to adjust my rear derailleur (you get the spelling thing at this point, right?) just yesterday resulted in about 90 minutes of work on my part where I ended up sweaty and greasy and abandonded the adjustment after having stripped off the old cable and refusing to thread in the new one. After leaving the room I discovered that I had left the front door to my condo entrance ajar and 2 of my 3 cats (yes, 3 cats) had made a jail break and were outside. Of course they know the hand that feeds them and hadn't run too far off and were lurking near the entrace, probably chasing the birds and squirrels that they watch feverously from the windowsill.
I ended up taking the bike to the shop after all, where they informed me that the chain was stretched which was probably aggravating the derailleur adjustment. The chain! Of course! D'oh! A new chain, installation, and derailleur adjustment, $60. Not throwing any tools through the spare bedroom window: priceless. As an added benefit my fingers are still stained with grease, giving my other co-workers the impression that I'm a salt-of-the-earth, manly man who does his own repairs and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Of course the truth of the matter is just that I'm a cheap bastard that's addicted to wearing suggestively-tight spandex/lycra shorts, flourescent bumble bee shirts, and mushroom cap helmets!
Share This Article
