In the Dumpster of Life

People email me with all kinds of questions about bikes and I have to admit I know a lot, but not everything.

Someone might find a frame in the dumpster and email me pictures asking if I know what it is. I may know, I may not, I may offer an educated guess.

When looking for answers, concentrate on what you already know, not on what you don’t know. When you pull a frame from the dumpster look at the dropouts. Are they forged steel like Campagnolo? If so, it is probably a quality frame. If the dropouts are stamped from sheet steel, it is of lesser quality.

The exception would be, if it were an antique, pre dating forged dropouts. (1950s and earlier.) Then you look at the quality of the lug work, etc. You can ask an expert who will give you an educated guess, an opinion.

Nine times out of ten, it is nothing of value, which is why it was in the dumpster to begin with. If a person really needs another beater bike, then build it up and ride it, and enjoy it. Alternatively, give it to someone who needs it more than you do, or throw it back in the dumpster and forget about it.

In life too, it is more important where life's journey has taken us, rather than the point we started. In fact once we have left that point it is of little significance. More important is the direction we continue to steer ourselves on the road of life.

I once knew a young man who didn’t know who his father was, and was a basket case as a result. His mother wouldn’t tell him and a possible reason was that he was the result of some drunken one night stand and she didn’t know who the father was.

If this was the case then honesty with her son might have been the better course, although not necessarily. Had she been honest, he may have been even more troubled, because now he would know that he could never find the answer. Perhaps that knowledge would have alienated him from the one person who truly loved him, his mother.

Did he really need to know where he came from? He was here on this planet, he was healthy, fit, intelligent, tall, good looking; he had a hell of a lot going for him. Instead, he was a failure in life, and blamed it all on the fact that he didn’t know who his father was.

He would have done better had he concentrated on what he knew. He had a mother who loved him; he had a good education, etc. etc. Instead he was obsessed by the unknown.

My father was the parent from hell; I have written about him here and elsewhere. I turned out all right in spite of this, would I have turned out any better or worse if I had not known who my father was?

Had my father died before I was old enough to know him, I would still be the same person. The path my life took was the direction I decided to travel; it had nothing to do with where I came from, or from where I started.

Some of us are born more privileged than others, our country of birth for a start. But that is like the frame we find in the dumpster. It might be a Charlton or a Colnago, a Huffy or a Hetchins. Build any of them into a bike and they will get you from A to B. Make do with what you have.

Knowledge is a wonderful thing, but there will always be more questions than answers; some knowledge we seek just for the sake of it. Having certain knowledge does not always improve the quality of our life.

It seems to me knowledge often comes to us on a need to know basis. We might be riding our unknown dumpster bike one day and someone will ride up along side us and say, “I’ve got one of those.”

In the “dumpster” of life, we will find many things; some treasures, some trash. We take what we can use, the rest we discard. Some things we find may appear to be worthless but turn out to be treasures, and vice-versa.

Sometimes we think we have found treasure; we find a job or a relationship and become very excited, only to find later we should have left it in the dumpster.

Footnote: This article was previously used, but I recycled it, edited and reworked it. In other words I pulled it from my dumpster of old posts, because it was worth another look.

I love to ride my bike

I love to ride my bike, but for some reason hate getting ready to ride my bike. It seems to take me on average about 45 minutes, half an hour if I rush; from the time I decide to go for a ride, to actually walking out the door with my bike.

If I procrastinate over getting out for a ride, it is never over actually riding, but because of this chore of getting ready. How long does it take to throw on a jersey and a pair of shorts, you may ask? 

The first thing I do is pump the tires up, check for cuts, and give the bike a quick look over. Then fill two large water bottles with filtered tap water, and place them on the bike.

Then I get dressed, shorts, jersey, socks, that is relatively easy. I don’t put my shoes on until the last minute otherwise I am likely to slip on the kitchen or bathroom floor and fall on my arse.

I have done this on a few occasions, hurting nothing but my pride, but the thought that I could do myself serious injury makes me cautious.

Next I stuff my pockets. A multi Allen wrench, wrapped in a shop towel, and a hard plastic case which houses my cell phone. It is actually a plastic traveling soap case that I found at Target; it keeps the cell phone dry and protects it if I should fall. This is most likely when I would need a cell phone, and a broken one would not be much use.

I used to carry my wallet, until I read in the local paper that a man got robbed on the bike path I ride on, so now I just carry a photo copy of my driver’s license as ID, with relevant phone numbers written on it. If I were intending to go on a long ride, I would take some cash or a debit card.

I often take a banana with me, just in case I decide to ride a few extra miles. I think bananas are the ideal cyclist’s food. The perfect size and shape to fit in the back pocket, and the skin is nature’s own wrapper that is biodegradable.

Can it be I am almost ready, put my helmet on. No, wait I have to change my glasses, I have a special prescription pair for riding, with clip on sun glasses. Invariably they are covered in sweat from my last ride; I go to find the lens cleaner. Will I ever get out of here?

Okay, sun glasses on, can’t see a bloody thing; stumble to the bathroom. For some reason I can’t put a helmet on without the aid of a mirror.

Gloves and shoes on, am I finally ready? I know I am forgetting something; my bike is in one hand and the other is on the door knob. I stand there and do a mental check.

Sunscreen.....I forgot the fucking sunscreen. Off come the gloves, helmet and glasses; Go find the sports spray, quick once over on my arms and legs, that doesn’t take long. However, I can’t use it on my face as it says to keep away from the eyes.

Back into the bathroom, almost slip and fall on my arse, ‘cos now I’m wearing my cycling shoes with the cleats and hard plastic soles. Squeeze some different sunscreen from a tube and apply to my face, ears and the back of my neck.

Glasses, helmet and gloves back on, pick up my door key. Look up at the clock; forty-five minutes, just like I told you. Step outside and the heat and humidity hit me. I feel like I have just stepped into a bowl of hot cream of mushroom soup.

The summers here in South Carolina are brutally hot; it is important I get out as early as possible. Afternoon temps get to 90F or a 100F (32C to 38C) with the humidity anywhere from 80 to a 100%. Anyone who says you don’t need special clothes to ride a bike are welcome to do so. Not me if I’m riding more than an hour.

I look down at the bike, it needs a clean. Did I tell you, I also hate cleaning the bike, but I love to ride my bike

Steve Bilenky Fuso Tribute Frame

I never know from one day to the next what surprise will show up in my email box. Like yesterday for example, Ron Lau a friend from the West Coast, sent me pictures of a Fuso “Tribute” frame that he had Steve Bilenky build for him. Ron already owns several frames I built.

When I started building the Fuso frames in my shop in San Marcos, California in 1984 I was simply trying to produce a reasonably priced hand built frame that would compete with all the Italian import frames that were around at that time.

I never could have imagined that some twenty-five years later another esteemed framebuilder like Steve Bilenky would replicate the frame as a tribute.

Steve did not copy a Fuso exactly; there would be little point in doing so as there are still plentiful supplies of used Fusos around.

Instead the frame is definitely a Steve Bilenky, but there is no mistaking where the inspiration for the paint scheme came from.

I am deeply touched.

Bigotry

If you find the above cartoon funny, you might be a bigot.

Think about it, would you repeat the joke if the caption read, “I once saw a Black Man run into a Jew, and didn’t know who not to help.” Most decent people wouldn’t, it would be socially unacceptable.

Those old enough to remember back to the 1950s and before. Racial jokes were accepted and it made those at the brunt of these jokes somehow less than human. To some it even made it okay to go out and beat up, or murder members of these minorities.

This dehumanizing meant these minorities were not seen as people with families who loved them, somebody’s father, mother, or child. Often referred to as “They,” or “Them,” which put a less than human face on a person, than it would by saying “Him” or “Her.”

“They” as a group were always judged by the worst behavior in that group. "You can’t trust them; they will rob you blind, given half a chance."

So too are cyclist as a group judged by the worst standard of behavior. “They always run red lights;" or are even blamed for their very existence. "They shouldn't even be on the road."

And when a cyclist puts on Lycra, it becomes his different color skin, and it too becomes fair game for ridicule. "Those stupid skin tight clothes they wear, those ridiculous shoes, and helmets."

I will admit if a cyclist strays more than ten feet from his bike he does look a little strange, but then so too would a guy walking down Main Street in a wet suit and flippers.

It is now against the law to discriminate against a person on the grounds their race, or sexual preference, etc. Because of these laws, such discrimination becomes socially unacceptable. It is a shame when society has to enact a law to force people to do what common decency should tell them what is morally wrong.

Strangely the above cartoon takes a cheap shot at two groups of people whose only crime is that they delay a person for a moment. The person collecting money for a charity that makes you stop and dig in your pocket for change. And the cyclist who may delay you momentarily, preventing you from getting to the next red light a little quicker.

Back before the 1950s a person of different race or color, could be harassed just for being out in public. In some instances cyclists get the exact same treatment today. Has our society advanced at all?

Do we have to keep passing laws to stop people from discriminating against this group or that? It is sad when otherwise responsible and upright citizens behave in this way.

The people, who draw cartoons like this, and the newspapers and magazines that publish them, justify the discrimination and need to stop. Not because cyclists as a group are too sensitive to take it, (Actually our Lycra skin is pretty thick.) but because it dehumanizes people who for whatever reason, choose to ride a bicycle.

And when you dehumanize a group of people, it makes it okay to honk at and harass, to even buzz real close and put the cyclist’s life in danger. To a very small minority it makes it alright to deliberately injure or kill a cyclist.

Some may think "Bigotry" is too strong a term, but is there any difference in hurling abuse at a man because of his race, than doing the same because another is riding a bicycle?

Some may shoot down this argument by saying a man can't help being black, but cycling is a choice. Religion is also a choice, and like religion riding a bike is my right. I have been racing and riding bikes since I was a teen; it has been a life time passion for me, I am not about to quit.

I should not have to endure harrassment and abuse because I exercise my right to do something as simple as ride a bicycle

From this story here

And this one
 

The March of the Machines

Just about any manufactured item can be described as Functional Art; designed not only to do what it is supposed to do, but to look appealing also.

If you are choosing between two models of cell phones, you are most likely going to pick the one that looks cool; all other things being equal.

When I built bicycle frames in England during the 1970s my customers were almost exclusively racing cyclists. They bought my bikes mainly because they handled well and were reasonably priced.

On moving to the US in 1979 I saw that framebuilders paid a great deal of attention to detail and finish of the product, because their customers were swayed by aesthetics as much as what was beneath the paint.

However, aesthetics and function must go hand in hand; hence the term Functional Art. If someone made a musical instrument that looked beautiful but sounded awful; what use would it be apart from something to hang on the wall and look at? The beauty of a well crafted bicycle is in the way it rides and handles.

How did these qualities get into the bicycle frame other than through the builder? Through design and skill, which is why I have often said there is a part of me in every frame I built. Also when you practice a skill long enough it becomes second nature; automatic without conscious thought.

This is not a new notion; the Native American called this “Hand Magic.” Nature bringing something into creation through the artist’s hands. When an ant colony builds an ant hill, is this any different from man building his cities and roadways; just on a different scale.

The Native American sees mankind as part of Nature, not separate from it. There is nothing in Nature that is not beautiful, the only ugliness is manmade.

Man builds a barn in a field and paints it red. It is an eyesore, a blight on the environment. Given time the barn becomes derelict; Nature takes over and the barn becomes a thing of beauty. Photographers come to photograph it; artists come to capture it on canvas.

If the artist is connected to the creative source in the first place then his creation will be beautiful to begin with. It is not even necessary for the artist to be aware of this. When I built frames some twenty years ago, had anyone put forward this point of view to me, I would have said they were full of crap.

It was only towards the end of my framebuilding career in the early 1990s did I realize that all creativity or art comes from one source only; be it music, painting, or even bicycle frames.

Bicycle frames are no longer hand built; they are designed and manufactured like everything else. That is not to say they are inferior from a functional standpoint, they may even perform better. And as for aesthetics, well they are smooth and shiny, what more can you ask for, or expect.

Looking back, it seems to me that what the customer demands of the craftsman making a hand built item, is a look of perfection. As if it came out of a mould, or was made by machine. When the craftsman attains this, the machines take over.

Automobiles were once built by hand, and yet the finest craftsman, hand beating an auto body panel, could never produce a modern body panel. One that is stamped by a die that was machined by a computer controlled piece of equipment.

As for function, the modern robot built automobile will outperform its hand built counterpart of yesteryear. The robots are of course built by skilled engineers, but once built work for a lot less than individual craftsmen.

Items still have to be initially designed by someone creative, an artist. However, with the computer being the modern day design tool of choice, and from there going to the programmer of the machines and robots. I'm not sure where the "Hand Magic" comes into the equation.

It appears the hand of the craftsman has been bypassed completely. But that is progress, the march of the machines