Concrete Cyclist

I think one of the most intriguing and essential life lessons I have learned lately--and am still learning--is that there is more than one way to do something.  This may seem obvious, but in a world where we are surrounded by self-proclaimed experts, whose way is the one and only right way, this fact can become cloudy or even invisible.

I am, by trade, a bicycle mechanic.  I currently have a little over a year and a half of experience working as a mechanic in a small, privately run shop.  Within the dirty, grimy walls of Ike's Bikes I developed a set of very specific skills to repair, diagnose and build bicycles.  Being in a tiny "closet-sized" shop in the middle of a place where bicycles are not revered and at best tolerated, I was taught with fire and malice, wielding it to subdue stupidity and misconceptions as they came at me almost constantly during the warmer months of the year.

The hell-fire I proudly consider home.

Now, living in Tucson Arizona, I find my weapons are blunted by a generally heightened sense of cyclery and I will not lie:  I find it disheveling.  However, as I hold fast onto what I hold dear I can't help but marvel at the diversity in opinions and approaches.  I also find it amusing how out of place I can be.  I take pride in my simple and affordable approach to nearly everything.  While so many of my new colleagues relish the technologically fresh and cutting edge, I confidently tighten my grip on decades old technology, keeping a keen eye open for relics from this bygone age of bicycling that are still in good condition.

Beautiful.

My girlfriend and I are the only ones who ride old lugged steel frames to work.  That also means we're the only ones who ride on 27" wheels.  Although this will soon change, I love it.  Where others look for two hundred dollar threadless stems I would love to get my hands on a thirty or forty year old quill stem from Italy.

A beautiful lugged steel frame; I'd take it over carbon fiber anyday.

It saddens me that a common misconception about people first meeting me is that I am some kind of die-hard cyclist.  The truth is that I reject the label "cyclist"; while I agree that in its essence I am a "cyclist", I feel the much more potent and visible connotation of a spandex clad, aggressive and narcissistic athlete couldn't be farther from the truth when it comes to my own disposition.

I don't own a bike that properly fits me.

I don't want to use--and have never used--clipless pedals.

I would never own anything made of carbon fiber on a bicycle.

My riding attire is what I wear at work, lounging in the house, or walking through the mall.

You'll never see me like this.

Not all "cyclists" are bad:  some are humble, self-aware, or just simply not dicks about it.  But I'd much more quickly and happily throw my lot in with the enthusiastic commuter.  I ride to work most days.  I enjoy going out for a joy ride.  I'm not an athlete at all.

Because of this, I can't really say a lot about riding stance or bike fitting.  My expertise extends to if a bike fits someone or not--and even then there are a lot of grey areas with my method--and that is about it.  I can help people get more or less length on a certain aspect of the bike, but if that is good for them I usually can't help that much.  Instead I get to listen to my coworkers and managers talk to customers about all of these abstract concepts that I both don't understand and don't care about personally.  I am, in most things, concrete.

At the end of the day, I've learned that just because I can't precisely fit someone to a bike doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about.  I can still fix most things on a bicycle, and keep my bicycles running for hundreds of dollars less than some people.  My natural feel for the mechanics involved in a bicycle still gives me an edge over people who rely on the books and manuals.  As far as I'm concerned, I learned in the best shop in the world, and I'm going to spread the methodology of that shop everywhere I go.