Write Right Rite, Wheelwright!

Pedal Power

Neighborhood Bike Works has been my go-to pastime for over a year now, since I was referred by Mansa down at 35th and Spring Garden Streets. There, I was volunteering at Drexel Community Gardens, probably via a hookup through a shared email list. Over the fence, Mansa said that he had helped in the Garden before; I detailed my sad list of inactivities. He came back with three organizations, all within four blocks of my home.

Since July of 2018, I have barely missed a session at Bike Works, two on weeknights, two on weekends. Being a lifelong tinkerer, a natural grease monkey, an ex-Navy aircraft mechanic, and a Mechanical Engineer out of Drexel University's defunct Evening College, if it goes clink, clank, ca-chunk, it is mine. I had been losing it in the "use it or lose it" aspect of life. No more! I see people with bicycle problems, bicycles with people problems (poorly matched,) bicycles with bicycle problems (non-interchangeable parts,) and bicycles with automotive problems ("Is that grease or blood?)

Early on, this guy Jay came in with a classic ten-speed bike, possibly forty years old. Jay was a good bit older than the bike; both of them had seen hard times. The first thing to do is a four-point check, the four bearing sets: two wheel axles, crank bearings, fork to handlebars. Then we check the frame for breaks and cracks. Brakes come next, we don't want to get people rolling if they can't get stopped.

Jay had come in for a rear brake issue; the repair took a caliper (squeezy thing,) and cable attachments; all told, a workaday job. Upon reinstalling the rear wheel, it became obvious that it needed some work itself. It was out of true almost half an inch, which requires adjustment, or truing. To the truing stand!

Then the road got rough! The wheel was so old, some spokes so frozen, that they wouldn't turn. Fight, fight, fight! The wrench is turning, turning, but the spoke is twisting, twisting, not tightening. Then, "BANG!" Broken spoke. And of course, the usual and worst-case scenario, it is on the gear cluster side, which means the freewheel and cluster have to be removed, that's how it's put together. "Yes, Jay I can do that, too...have to."

The special adapter drops right in where it is supposed to on the freewheel; I flip the assembly into the bench vise for maximum unscrewing power, and...

The damned freewheel wouldn't come loose! I repositioned myself and got Jay in on the assist. Finally, the rim started to give way, but I realized that the freewheel was not coming loose, the hub, a three-piece assembly, was twisting apart. Game over. "Jay, you're gonna need a new wheel!"

I scoured our 27-inch wheels hanging up for sale, looking for a rear. Nothing. "Jay, I have to check the scrap pile in the basement." And there it was! With a gear cluster attached!

New used wheel trued, tube and tire installed, brakes adjusted, ready to go out the door just before closing time.

Jay, "How much do I owe you?"

"Five bucks for the rear brake. The wheel came off the scrap pile. Free!"

"Thanks, brother!" Jay responds. He scanned the shop, nodded slowly two or three times, and headed to the cash register. Jay was back for other work ten days later. "George, man, you saved my bike, you saved my life."

Maybe that's what keeps me coming back.

.

William McG came limping out of the office passageway. "Wheels McG, I didn't know you were here!" I laughed, punching him on the arm. Billy had given way to Will in the Marine Corps, there were so many Billys; Will had given way to Wills with the advent of the popular Duke of Cambridge, in 1982; Wills became Wheels at the Bike Works, neighborhood vernacular. McG, ever since his corps aviation training, everything was gees: "hitting a pothole wrong is three gees, headlong into a truck is five gees!"

Wheels headed toward the front door, and saw Stanley with a thirtyish woman; she was struggling to get a rubber grip on her handlebar. "Put some hairspray on it, that's what we do," Wheels offered. "Slides on, stays in place when it dries." Stanley nodded in agreement.

"But will I ever be able to get it off?" asked the woman.

"It has some give. I've never seen a woman with a beehive hairdo stuck in a low doorway!"

Stanley chuckled. I snickered. Wheels laughed. The lady looked perplexed. "I don't understand!" she said.

Stanley said, "It's a joke. Beehive hairdo. Low doorway."

"Oh, that's funny," She deadpanned. She did not laugh. I have seen that in some younger people. Can you no longer laugh when you assimilate LOL?

(SMH.)

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© 20191008 George Wisser

4307 Spring Garden Street

Philadelphia, Pa. 19104