If you’re ever looking for a college graduate with an English degree, and you have a fear of schools, or you can’t find the mall, just head down to your local bike shop. You probably need a Presta valve adapter anyway. There’s a good chance that a former English major will assist you, and will eloquently hyperbolize the benefits of the Presta valve, provided he or she has the energy. The benefits aren’t that profound, but if you must know, I’ll tell you. The pesky Presta Valve, or French valve, believe it or not, is easier to inflate and can be done so with a simpler pump. In addition, the narrower valve requires a smaller hole drilled into the rim, which is clearly a plus. As far as why Presta valve adapters cost so much, that is something I am unwilling to disclose, even in layman’s terms.
English majors thrive in bike shops because it takes people with extraordinary communication skills combined with strong creative flair and a high level of tact to explain that when a bike is skipping because the chain is stretched, simply removing a chain link won’t solve the problem. Or to elucidate that, unfortunately, flats can happen any time, and that glass in the road doesn’t magically move aside, even if you did just have your bike tuned up. Or to describe why department store bikes are the embodiment of all that is evil. In order to not offend a customer in these sensitive situations, it takes more than a salesperson. It takes an astute orator.
Our shop has employed quite a few English majors over the years, and I am no exception, and maybe someday, one of us will ascend into a career that is both rewarding and fruitful, but until then, we will continue to occasionally break away only to come running right back with our tail between our legs. Fortunately, our shop always welcomes us with back with open arms like prodigal sons, because even though many applicants may have interviewed for our position while we were gone, none at once possessed a friendly personality, strong work ethic, immeasurable level of patience combined with an ability to rebuild a Sturmy Archer 3-speed hub, and willingness to work for a wage that would make a paperboy feel smug.
Another type of person that you will usually find sweeping the bike shop floor is the bike racer. Full of aspiration, focus, and discipline, he is working at the shop just until he gets signed to a professional bike racing team and becomes a professional bike rider, competing in professional bike races. A glorious life is only a few expensive road trips around the New England circuit away. Sadly, like garage band singers pining for a record deal and a radio song, the time comes when the bike racer must accept that his dream has eluded him because at 22 years of age, he is ancient. Over the hill and disheartened, he redirects that aspiration, focus, and determination and gets a real job. But unlike an English major, when the bike racer resigns from the shop, it is almost always for good, and the next thing you know, he’s married, working in the city, having a kid named Magnus, and winning the town line sprints on the local group ride. However, even though he’s driving around in a fancy car, when he stops by for a visit, he almost always says how much he misses working at the shop, and that the money-making world is a harsh one that sucks the soul out of you.
Currently, we have an aspiring professional rider on our staff named Fast Matt, who just did an extraordinary job in his second GMSR, and we couldn’t be more proud of him. I like to recall the days when he first came on one of our group rides as a young teen, and I made it to the top of a particular climb before he did. That was a shining moment for me, and the exhilaration I felt lasted well after I was dropped by the pack, with Fast Matt in tow, on the other side of the climb. Those days are long gone, and now he is a serious contender in his category in a big stage race. In fact, he very well may have won the GMSR, but due to a flat during the crit on the last day, he lost over a minute and ended up finishing fourth. More proof that flats can happen anytime to anyone, so make sure you always carry a Presta valve adapter.
When I was fourteen years old, my friend Burke put a brand new cassette into his cassette player, hit play and said, "Listen to this shit." It was 1987 in Berlin, NH. Metal bands and Hair bands showed their influence on every single kid in town in the form of big hair, leather jackets, and concert T-shirts for bands like Whitesnake, Megadeth, and Dokken. I had just moved to town from Littleton, NH, where the kids I hung out with listened to U2, The Violent Femmes, and The Beastie Boys. Trying to fit in with these new cool kids was not easy and trying to like their music was even harder. But that cassette that Burke played was different. Instantly, I dug it and twenty years later, I still do. The album, of course, was Appetite for Destruction.
