A Bicycle Named Sofia

Experienced bicycle mechanics, like heart surgeons and great cities such as Rome, for example, are not built in a day. It takes many, many years. Yes, there are schools in places like Portland and Colorado Springs, where in a few short weeks you can earn an official certificate stating that you are a “certified” bicycle mechanic, but you will be far from an “experienced” bicycle mechanic. To earn the “experienced” distinction, you need to travel down a long, bumpy road, full of rusty twists and corroded turns, recumbent-sized potholes, and frugal customers who need new drivetrains. Once you’ve reached the end of this road, you’ll have a skill that few people possess, and you’ll have a trade that you can use to make a living, sort of. Best of all, every once in a while, you’ll get to use your skills in the real world to make someone very happy. But first, there are some things you must do.

You need to cross-thread the bottom bracket shell of a custom steel frame. You need to grind your knuckles deep into a greasy chainring. You need to squirt Tri-Flo into your eye. You need to spend 20 minutes scratching your head, trying to figure out why the rear shifting suddenly isn't working any more, only to discover that you clamped the rear derailleur cable against the chainstay while installing the kickstand. A few years later you need to do it again.
You need to stab the end of your finger with a frayed brake cable. You need to wonder why, after cutting it twice, the steer tube is still too short. You need to have a tire, whose bead isn't properly seated on the rim, explode like an artillery shell in your face. You need to promise a customer that you'll remove that frozen seat post by the end of the day. You need to be able to fix a brand new Huffy for less than the customer paid for it. You need to spend an hour on your hands and knees searching the floor for the world's smallest screw. Only then, an experienced bike mechanic will you be. Or so I thought.

A few weeks ago, while hanging out with two of my best college friends, Carl and Puff Debby, and Debby’s pug Harley, I was able to put my experienced bicycle mechanic skills to good use. P. Debby showed me her old Columbia five-speed tandem that for years had lingered in a dark corner of her basement like a corduroy bean bag chair. She casually mentioned that she sure wished she knew a bike mechanic who could perhaps get it running. Bike mechanics love this kind of thing, and I am no exception, and I declared that today, this sweet Columbia five-speed tandem, which would otherwise make me cringe if it came into the shop, would roll.
We hauled it out of the basement through the bulkhead and into the light of a beautiful fall day. Puff Debby got a bucket of hot soapy water ready, while I dug through her husband’s toolbox, hoping for nothing more than an adjustable wrench. To my surprise, along with a proper set of screwdrivers, I found a complete set of metric box-end wrenches. Not only was this bike going to be clean, I thought, it was going to be dialed.

After I had adjusted the brakes and the shifting, tightened the bottom bracket and headset, and straightened the handlebars, I discovered something that in all my years as a bike mechanic had been a mystery to me: the purpose of the 11mm wrench. I’ve worked on thousands of bikes over the course of almost 20 years, and all that time, the shiny, unblemished 11mm wrench never left the hook on the tool wall. At last, on this day, I finally figured out that it is for tightening the fender bolts on a Columbia five-speed tandem.

When it was all shined up and tuned up, the moment we had been waiting for arrived. Carl named the bike Sofia, Harley grunted in approval, and we took a few photographs to capture the moment. Finally, Deb and I took it for a spin down the street, carved a perfect 180-degree turn around the cul-de-sac, and returned safely to her driveway. It ran as smooth as frogs’ hair, and the recently tightened rear fender didn’t rattle one bit.

As a bike mechanic, it is moments like these that give me a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction. I rescued an old bike, I put a smile on a good friend’s face, and I finally figured out what the 11mm wrench is for. And to think that before then, I called myself an experienced bicycle mechanic.