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?

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.

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.

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2:2:22

On April 4th, 1944 I was eight years old and attending the little village school, in a place named East Woodhay, in Hampshire in the South of England. (Picture above.) There was a huge build up of American GIs in the area, in preparation for the Normandy Invasion just two months away. WWII would continue another year before coming to an end.

Every school day my teacher would write the date on the blackboard, and we would copy and write it at the top of a fresh page in our notebook. On this morning, teacher pointed out that this particular date was special, it was 4/4/44, and this only happened approximately every eleven years, throughout the century, starting with 1/1/11, ending with 9/9/99, then repeating.

She mentioned the next date this occurred would be 5/5/55, and when this date rolled around, I was 19 years old, and I remembered that day in school eleven years earlier. For some reason this thought has stayed with me throughout my life. 6/6/66 I was 30, and so on. Looking back now it is kind of like a time-lapse view of my life.

And so once more on Wednesday of this week it will be 2/2/22. The next time this will occur will be 3/3/33 and then 4/4/44 which for me is where this all started. The other point worth mentioning is that in the United States the date is written month/day/ year. Most other countries write the date, day/month/year. On these occasions the World is in sync, at least where the date is concerned.

In this digital age many will write the date 02/02/22 which renders the whole idea of this piece useless but serves to remind me that life before the digital age was in many ways, better. Or at least simpler.

I am posting this ahead of the actual day so that you can pass it down to your children, for what its worth. It may seem like a useless piece of trivia, but it actually causes one to reflect back and to look forward, and to do both those can be a good thing.

As a footnote: Just this morning a friend pointed out that later in February, 22nd. 2022, which will be either 2/22/22 or 22/2/22 depending where you are on the globe, it falls on a 2sday.... How many centuries before that happens again?

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John Patston, a cycling personality

John Patston (Front.) and John Woodburn during their RRA Place to Place Record Attempts.(1976)

Wherever there is an organized sport there is a governing body for that sport, it is what makes it “Organized.” Sports that have been around for many years have a World Governing Body, countries have National Governing Bodies, and within each country there are local officials running things.

One does not necessarily have to participate in organized sport, anyone can kick a football around, or shoot a few hoops, or go for a bike ride for that matter, alone or in the company of others. Such sport can still be competitive, but no one is necessarily keeping score anyway, and the level of competitiveness depends on those participating.

In an organized sport there are always those who will disagree with decisions made and way the sport is run. Last week I wrote about John Patston who in the 1970s was a leading rider in the West Midlands area, of England. A hot bed of the British cycling industry and the sport of cycle racing.

In 1976, John had spoken out about local cycling officials, on a Birmingham radio station, and referred to them as “Little Tin Gods.” As a result, JP was handed a six-month suspension, for “Bringing the sport into disrepute.”

At this time another leading British cyclist, John Woodburn was also under suspension, and the two decided to team and attempt British Place to Place tandem records. They rode under the auspices of the Road Records Association. (RRA.) An established organization that had been around since the late 1800s and was not affiliated with the Road Time Trials Council, or the British Cycling Federation, who governed the rest of cycling sport in the UK at that time.

Patston and Woodburn broke a total of five records in that six-month period. London to Cardiff [5:56:20], London to Pembroke [9:59:31]; London to Brighton and back [4:07:26]; London to Bath and back [8:40:57] and London to Portsmouth and back [5:43:59].

There was another incident involving John Patston during this six-month suspension period that I remember well as it happened during an early season road-race in the Callow end area of Worcestershire, where I lived at the time.

John was out on a long solo training ride, from Birmingham to the Cotswold area of Gloucestershire. It was a Sunday and John had already covered over 100 miles when he came across this road-race and stopped to watch them go by. A small break-away group of three or four riders passed by. JP looked at his watch and timed the lead the break had on the main bunch, at a minute and a half.

John was “Decked out like a tourist,” as he put it, with a saddlebag on his bike, and wearing long pants and a winter jacked. He chased and caught the main bunch, and as he passed them, he acted like an unofficial timekeeper telling them the break had one and a half minutes lead.

He then chased after the break-away group. John had expected a few riders from the main field to follow him, but as he told the story, when he looked around, he was alone. He caught the leading group and again acted as unofficial timekeeper telling them they had a minute and a half lead.

Race officials in following cars were going crazy, honking horns, and flashing headlights, trying to get JP to stop. He stayed with the lead group and unofficially “Won” the finishing sprint.

Officials tried to impose a further ban, but as John was already banned by the RTTC and the BCF, he was no longer affiliated with these or any club. The race was being held on open roads, and JP was simply a member of the public out for a bike ride.

The thing is, only John Patston could have pulled this off at the time. This was an early season Road Race of little importance, and most of the of the participants were probably not that fit. John always trained right through the winter, and because of these Place-to-Place Record attempts he was even fitter than he would have normally been.

He had managed to raise a middle finger to the officials he despised, to the amusement of local cyclists. No one was harmed, and all that witnessed what happened that day have an amusing tale to tell their grandchildren.

The best sports stars are “Personalities” who entertain not only by winning, but by unofficial exploits like this one.

Footnote: Correction, John Patston tells me he was suspended for falsifying an RTTC entry form, when he mistakenly wrote the wrong event name that he had done his best 50 mile TT time. The comments on the radio broadcast came later as a result of this suspension. Altogether JP was disqualified, banned, or suspended a total of 23 times over the years.

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John Patston

The Internet and social media can be a wonderful thing when it works as it is supposed to, bringing old friends and acquaintances together decades after losing touch. One recent contact I made was with John Patston.

If I could pick one bike that launched my framebuilding career into overdrive, it would be the bike pictured above. The person who rode it was John Patston.

Without John owning and riding this bike, it would have meant nothing. It was the second of two frames I built for him in 1975. In the 1970s there were strict rules governing amateur status. The Olympics were still strictly amateur, and in every sport a manufacturer could not advertise the fact that a specific athlete was using their equipment. To do so would jeopardize their amateur status.

However, there were ways around it, displaying my name prominently on the frame so it appeared in photos printed in various magazines, was one way. This particular bike, I had managed to get “Cycling Weekly” magazine write an article on the bike as it was a specialist time-trial bike.

There could be no mention of John Patston owning the bike, but I had painted the bike black, with gold pinstriping on the lugs, and had painted the initials “JP” in gold on the seatstay top-eyes, or caps. The article drew attention to the initials and drew a parallel to the “John Player” (Tobacco Company.) Formula-one motor race car, that was also painted black and gold.

Of course, with John Patston being the leading Time-Trialist in the UK at that time, it did not take much effort to connect the dots. That year, JP won the prestigious “Campagnolo Trophy” which was a competition run by “Cycling Magazine.” Six separate 25 mile time-trials run throughout the year. John won five of the six TTs, beating such prestigious riders as Alf Engers, Derrick Cottingham, and Eddie Atkins.

I got to thinking back to how our paths crossed, or met, whatever way one looks at it. JP was the first international class rider to ride my bikes, and this lead directly to other riders, like Paul Carbutt, Pete Hall and Steve Jones, riding my frames.

John Patston,leads Paul Carbutt, and Pete Hall with 4th man Grant Thomas hidden behind JP. West Midlands Team, competing in the National TTT Championship.

The thing I remember about John Patston was the tremendous weekly milage he would do by way of training. Around 400 or 500 miles a week, while holding down a day job. By day he worked as a bank manager in Birmingham, he would leave work at 4pm. Then ride the 25 miles down to Worcester and back. So, 50 miles or more, four nights a week, with 100 plus miles on Saturdays and Sundays. He did this year-round and though the winter.

I was introduced to John by a local bike mechanic and wheel builder, Andy Thompson. JP was the worlds worst bike mechanic. Working in a bank, he had zero mechanical skills. And he brought his bike to Andy Thompson one time with most of the nuts on the brakes and gears, rounded off. “Have you been using pliers on these nuts?” Andy asked. “No, nut-crackers, actually.” Was John’s response.

After that, on weekday evenings, if I was working late, John would sometimes ride and extra five miles to my shop in Deblins Green, take a short break and have a cup of tea before riding back home. The timing of our meeting was perfect. My framebuilding business was about to take off, just a John was about to have one of the best years of his long cycling career.

Finally, in case you are wondering, why JP in on a Ken Bird bike on the “Cycling “magazine cover? (Above.) I have it directly from John that this is the same frame that I built, repainted, and decaled as a “Ken Bird.” John had accepted sponsorship from Ken Bird, because he could offer him race support, when there was no way I could do that as a one man business.

I was fine with it, my business had got the kick-start it needed, and I never looked back.

And as a bonus the original “JP” black and gold bike was featured in the “Penguin Book of the Bicycle,” a few years later, just before I moved to the USA.

John Patston and I remain friends to this day. It is good to be back in touch again. I will write more JP stories next week, in the meantime here is a recent article about JP’s cycling career.

The same photo at the top of the article, used as a title page image in "The Penguin Book of the Bicycle."

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Where am I from?

I came to the United States 43 years ago in January 1979, I don’t remember the exact date, just that it was January. I was 42 years old, a few weeks short of my 43rd. birthday. Today, in January 2022 I am 85 years old a few weeks shy of my 86th. birthday, therefore, I have reached the point where I have lived longer in America than I did in my native England.  

However, strangers ask me constantly, “Where are you from?” As soon as I open my mouth to speak, and they hear my accent. Over the years my accent has become bastardized, and people will try to guess. (Usually wrong.) Are you Australian? Or Irish or Scottish.

Then when I tell them I am from England, the next question is, “What brought you here?”  And before long I am getting into my whole life story.

So where am I from? How do I answer that when I have lived here 43 years, and the person asking is often much younger than 43 and therefore I have been here longer than them?

My father was Irish and left his homeland for England aged nineteen yet retained his Irish accent the rest of his life, so there is little hope for me to change at this late stage. It can lead to some to some interesting conversations, but most times it is a casual meeting with someone I will never see again, and it is just plain annoying.

One cannot complain about anything or get in an argument. If I do, I am told immediately, get back to Australia, or wherever it is you came from. I am left with the feeling that I don’t belong, and it is a helpless feeling. I get what racism must feel like, only that must be much worse, especially if the victim is born here.

Growing up in England I never remember asking foreigners where they were from unless I got to know them well. Now I think of it, even today if I run into someone with an obvious foreign accent, I do not ask them where they are from. In most cases it has no relevance.

I have a friend who is Swedish. I never knew until I had known him for some time, and it came up in conversation one day. “But you have no accent,” I told him. “I know” he said, I learned English in America, so I learned it with an American accent. He never gets asked “Where are you from?”

So, I am trying to come up with an explanation for my English accent that might be shorter, and more fun than my actual life story. The conversation might go:

“Where are you from?”

“New Jersey.”

“But you have an accent.”

“Yes, my father was in the Air Force, and we were stationed just outside London, England. I was 16 at the time, and the guys flying back and forth between the States and the UK were bringing a lot of weed over. I had quite a good little business, selling it to the local kids. When my father had to return, I ran away from home and lived in London for the next ten years. I was eventually arrested for dealing drugs and deported back to the US. By then it was the 1960s at the height of the British Music Invasion, and a British accent opened a lot of doors for me. Also got me laid a lot. Now I’m stuck with it.”

“That’s really interesting.”

“It is. Watch for it on Netflix.”

"Do you want fries with that?"

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