I had the worst dream last night. As I sit here typing in bed, I can't help but fear I'll have the same nightmare again. It all began earlier that day when I noticed the front hub on my mountain bike was loose. I had originally thought it was a loose headset or maybe even my brakes flexing. After another few seconds of nervous inspection, I finally narrowed it down to the front hub and, because I didn't have a set of cone wrenches at home, made a simple mental note to resolve the issue before my next ride (whenever that will be).
Mental note, indeed.
This dream began like so many others before it. I was riding my bike in the woods, happily enjoying a twisty stretch of singletrack. Naturally, all the normal things I encounter on a mountain bike were featured: close calls, closer calls, and falls. But it was this tiny mental note in the back of my head that turned this relatively happy dream into a horrifying one. Approaching a log obstacle, I lifted my front wheel to clear it, but instead of clearing it my wheel comes straight down onto the log and the hub, previously only slightly loose, gave out completely causing the wheel to buckle under the load. It eventually bent at a 45-degree angle before it disappeared completely, leaving my empty steel fork in midair. As soon as gravity and time resumed, I crashed down on the fork, which split like a banana peel as soon as it hit the ground. I was finally shaken out of my nightmare and woke up relieved, but tired and emotionally spent having dodge a bullet that would have broken my heart.
Now, I'm not normally an obsessively compulsive person. My messy workbench, desk, bedroom, and car are a testament to that. But when it comes to my own personal stable of bikes, I absolutely can't have any peace of mind unless I know exactly what's going on with them. If I can't fix it, but I know it's not going to prevent me from riding the bike (i.e. rips in the bar tape, gritty headset, wheel out of true by 0.003mm) then I'm comfortable. But if it's an issue that I can resolve quickly and that has the potential to cause further damage to my bike (albeit not damage as hyperbolic as that of my nightmare), I won't be able to stand the mere sight of said bike until I fix the damn thing. This is the burden that I must carry upon my shoulders. I've seen too much. I know too much. Dammit!
Can't sleep. Bikes will fall apart...
Can't sleep. Bikes will fall apart...
Can't sleep. Bikes will fall apart...
Can't sleep. Bikes will fall apart...
Can't sleep. Bikes will fall apart...
Monday, August 25, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Olympic Jeers and The Ikea Conflict
Yeah, the Olympics were on the boob tube again. This time it was basketball; USA vs. Argentina. I don't really know much about Olympic basketball, or even the sport in general, other than the word "Kobe" which must be some reference to the type of beef that the players eat in order to reach such ridiculous heights. Despite my lacking knowledge of beef and b-ball, I'm pretty sure it's not in the Olympic spirits to jeer and heckle any of the competing teams, which was the case in today's game. The entire crowd was cheering for the Argentinian team and would boo and hiss anytime the US got the ball, fouled a player, or blinked the wrong way. Not that I'm opposed to making fun of people, but if everyone is supposed to gather every four years and compete in athletic games as the best athletes in the world, why taint that with obnoxious heckling? But who am I to say that we shouldn't discourage an Olympic player to play his best? Fuck it. Let's start getting into the heads of other Olympic hopefuls. I'd imagine the most universal way of accomplishing this would involve a megaphone, an air horn, and the phrase "SooOOooo [insert country name].... Whacha dooin'?" and after each response given by the athlete, "Whyyy?" And if they didn't respond, I'd throw an apple pie in their face while chanting "U! S! A!" Slapstick. It never fails.
The Ikea Conflict:
Today (my day off) is Day Two of the War Against Swede-furnished Homes [aka WASH]. Me and the Swedes battled it out over the sofa. In addition to bolting literally everything together, the Swedish Geniuses wanted me to stretch the fabric covers over the seats and backs of each individual piece which was to be attached at specific points via velcro strips. Oh, and none of the covers were labeled. I don't know about this whole "globalization" thing if it means that the only instruction manuals we'll ever have will be drawn by a blind, drunk hobo.
As far as modular furniture goes, I'm pretty sure I hate it. I don't care how many seating arrangements you can have or that you can change the color of the sofa to fit the "mood" of the room. The fact of the matter is, building that sofa was enough of a pain in the ass that it makes zero sense to disassemble it just to have a different look because I would surely seek out the nearest Swede, choke him out, and be put in jail (or forced to work at Ikea). In additional to imminent incarceration, I've found that my dislike of modular furniture also stems from its lack of soul. While handmade furniture is overpriced, I think it'd be pretty cool to build my own from scratch and not have a wordless sheet of paper and tack-welded tools be my guide. Of course that means I'd spend a majority of my time at home sitting on the floor, slouching in a beanbag "chair," or falling out of a hammock, but at least those backaches and bruises would have been brought about by love.
The Ikea Conflict:
Today (my day off) is Day Two of the War Against Swede-furnished Homes [aka WASH]. Me and the Swedes battled it out over the sofa. In addition to bolting literally everything together, the Swedish Geniuses wanted me to stretch the fabric covers over the seats and backs of each individual piece which was to be attached at specific points via velcro strips. Oh, and none of the covers were labeled. I don't know about this whole "globalization" thing if it means that the only instruction manuals we'll ever have will be drawn by a blind, drunk hobo.
As far as modular furniture goes, I'm pretty sure I hate it. I don't care how many seating arrangements you can have or that you can change the color of the sofa to fit the "mood" of the room. The fact of the matter is, building that sofa was enough of a pain in the ass that it makes zero sense to disassemble it just to have a different look because I would surely seek out the nearest Swede, choke him out, and be put in jail (or forced to work at Ikea). In additional to imminent incarceration, I've found that my dislike of modular furniture also stems from its lack of soul. While handmade furniture is overpriced, I think it'd be pretty cool to build my own from scratch and not have a wordless sheet of paper and tack-welded tools be my guide. Of course that means I'd spend a majority of my time at home sitting on the floor, slouching in a beanbag "chair," or falling out of a hammock, but at least those backaches and bruises would have been brought about by love.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Bridging the Gap: Ikea Parole
I'm sitting here at home watching the Olympics. It's a pretty nice change of pace. I woke up at 7:30 today and went on the shop ride. It was pretty uneventful save for the fact that I forgot to eat breakfast. While I didn't bonk, I was completely famished after the ride. Chipotle to the rescue! It added to what can only be described as the perfect combination of endorphins, fatigue, and wanting to vomit. Glorious!
I guess I should explain why I'm sitting on my ass right now, especially with R.Andy running the shop as a gimp. I was released from my six-hour imprisonment at Ikea on conditional parole, which specifically stated that I be home to receive all the crap. Rugs, sofa, dressers, desks, etc will all be coming in the next couple hours and I will spend the next couple days drunk and piecing together Swedish furniture.
Also:
I think that in order to make triathlons more interesting, event organizers should pay water polo players in the water and have them bludgeon the hell out of the racers during the swim stage. If water temperatures and headwinds can affect their finishing times, why can't a 6'5" 225lb water polo player? It'd be like American Gladiators, but for "real" athletes.
In Other News:
My spokes came in. I'm super psyched to build my wheels. I'll show them off sometime in the near future. I still have to build the rest of the bike, but at least the wheels will be done and perfect when it comes time to slap everything together.
I guess I should explain why I'm sitting on my ass right now, especially with R.Andy running the shop as a gimp. I was released from my six-hour imprisonment at Ikea on conditional parole, which specifically stated that I be home to receive all the crap. Rugs, sofa, dressers, desks, etc will all be coming in the next couple hours and I will spend the next couple days drunk and piecing together Swedish furniture.
Also:
I think that in order to make triathlons more interesting, event organizers should pay water polo players in the water and have them bludgeon the hell out of the racers during the swim stage. If water temperatures and headwinds can affect their finishing times, why can't a 6'5" 225lb water polo player? It'd be like American Gladiators, but for "real" athletes.
In Other News:
My spokes came in. I'm super psyched to build my wheels. I'll show them off sometime in the near future. I still have to build the rest of the bike, but at least the wheels will be done and perfect when it comes time to slap everything together.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Superballs!
I hate to do a rehash of a former post, but I just couldn't let this one go. It's been bugging the hell out of me for a while now. I don't know if you've seen this, but there have been two separate occasions where customers have brought in bikes with two (yes, TWO!) saddlebags. They weren't stacked like a double-decker bus, but rather one was strapped in its traditional place and the other was strapped to the front of the saddle. They were hung lengthwise down the seatpost with the mouth of the bag opening towards the ground (for easy access, of course!) like some kind of ugly, nylon cocoon-encased, cyclist's testicle. Aside from being visually offensive, the saddlesack piques my curiosity. What do two bikeballs get you that one doesn't? Sure, it definitely gets you made fun of, but I consider that to be to my benefit and not theirs. I was tempted to use my default "because it's aero" excuse since one of them chose to deck out his bike with aerobars and special water bottles, but I fought this urge in search of greater riches and ridicule.
So what could be in that secondary sack? Tools? Doubtful, especially considering they both came to me to have their bikes fixed. Cellphones? Probably not. No ones had cellphones that big since Steamboat Mickey was just a cartoon and not a deviant sexual act. So it has to be something out of the ordinary...
Letting my imagination wander off a bit (and being slightly drunk at the same time), I've created a list of what could potentially be in those saddlebags:
- Makeup
- George Costanza's Wallet
- Spare set of aerobars
- 162 packets of sports supplements (gels, bars, syringes, etc)
- 354 dimpled stickers to put on bike frame and components in case said rider isn't feeling 'aero' enough
- Airbag to be deployed when said rider crashes
- Sandals ("word, brah")
- A power meter from 1964
- A heartrate monitor from the Mesozoic era
- T-shirt with obscure numbers on it somehow relating to an irrelevant feat they've accomplished (i.e. 14904.43 aka the number of times they've blinked. Under water.)
In other news:
Dave Zabriskie has one cool ass bike.
So what could be in that secondary sack? Tools? Doubtful, especially considering they both came to me to have their bikes fixed. Cellphones? Probably not. No ones had cellphones that big since Steamboat Mickey was just a cartoon and not a deviant sexual act. So it has to be something out of the ordinary...
Letting my imagination wander off a bit (and being slightly drunk at the same time), I've created a list of what could potentially be in those saddlebags:
- Makeup
- George Costanza's Wallet
- Spare set of aerobars
- 162 packets of sports supplements (gels, bars, syringes, etc)
- 354 dimpled stickers to put on bike frame and components in case said rider isn't feeling 'aero' enough
- Airbag to be deployed when said rider crashes
- Sandals ("word, brah")
- A power meter from 1964
- A heartrate monitor from the Mesozoic era
- T-shirt with obscure numbers on it somehow relating to an irrelevant feat they've accomplished (i.e. 14904.43 aka the number of times they've blinked. Under water.)
In other news:
Dave Zabriskie has one cool ass bike.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Days Off
Friday, I spent my day off getting my car fixed up and legal to drive. After a new battery, inspection, and renewed registration, my wallet was $300 lighter and my hoopdie, the first car I've ever owned and the love of my automotive life, was a pretty happy camper. Granted, she still needs a clutch (and probably a new engine), but it's fun to be driving a small, light, manual car again. What the car really needs is a roof rack, but I'll pretty much settle on any means of bicycle-on-automobile transportation short of paying a sherpa to sit on the roof with my bike and gear strapped to his back. I don't have anything against Tibetans per se, but my car's engine would struggle to haul even his diminutive body weight around. And just like that I have another reason to buy a lighter bike (or a bigger engine)!
Not exactly the best day off. Making my car happy made my bikes upset. Inanimate objects don't usually scare me, but my bikes outnumber me and their numbers are still growing. The mountain bike is getting especially restless and I'm afraid that she might leave me. This is also strike two for fun on days off. I first struck out last Tuesday when I was stuck in the Ikea Maze of Hell for six hours. Naturally, after each strike out I choose to block out* those horrid memories by drinking ridiculous amounts of alcohol to the point where I couldn't ride a bike even if I wanted to. But as with most things this Idiot does, this method of "dealing" with my problems makes riding bikes later on all the more painful, especially now that my legs have atrophied to the point where soon Yao Ming will soon be using them as chopsticks.
A Note on the DMV:
I know everyone complains about going to the DMV. It sucks ass. There are always weird smells, crying babies, and faces to be punched. But it works as a serious negative incentive for motorists to drive more carefully, keep there cars in running order, and generally be more responsible on the road. What would happen if there was a Department of Human-powered Vehicles?
Endnotes:
* blackout
Not exactly the best day off. Making my car happy made my bikes upset. Inanimate objects don't usually scare me, but my bikes outnumber me and their numbers are still growing. The mountain bike is getting especially restless and I'm afraid that she might leave me. This is also strike two for fun on days off. I first struck out last Tuesday when I was stuck in the Ikea Maze of Hell for six hours. Naturally, after each strike out I choose to block out* those horrid memories by drinking ridiculous amounts of alcohol to the point where I couldn't ride a bike even if I wanted to. But as with most things this Idiot does, this method of "dealing" with my problems makes riding bikes later on all the more painful, especially now that my legs have atrophied to the point where soon Yao Ming will soon be using them as chopsticks.
A Note on the DMV:
I know everyone complains about going to the DMV. It sucks ass. There are always weird smells, crying babies, and faces to be punched. But it works as a serious negative incentive for motorists to drive more carefully, keep there cars in running order, and generally be more responsible on the road. What would happen if there was a Department of Human-powered Vehicles?
Endnotes:
* blackout
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Bridging the Gap: POTUS
Of course I work on the president's bike. Chill out. It's not that big a deal. Bikes aren't that hard to figure out. What makes things easier is that he doesn't worry about trying to fix everything. If it's broken, we just replace it. It's as simple as that. His bike came in yesterday. It was apparently having some shifting issues when he was out riding in Beijing. A drivetrain clean and cable adjustment later, I found that he had a stiff link in his chain. Bam! New chain. Easy. I wish all my repairs were that simple.
Mythbusting POTUS' Bike:
1) No, I have never met him. And while the shop owner has been to the White House to meet him, I, and few other mechanics that work on his bike, are just as low on the food chain as his janitorial staff.
2) No, I do not nor will I ever sabotage his bike. Why does everyone get a kick out of asking me this? Would you do it? Yeah fucking right. I'd like to stay as far away from Gitmo as possible thank you very much.
3) No, I don't think his bike is wired for surveillance. It's a bicycle, stupid.
4) Our tax dollars at work? Riight. It's a bicycle; just another drop in the bucket. He probably spends more money on his haircuts.
5) Yes, he does actually ride the thing and that bike gets beaten to a pulp on a regular basis. We also fix the bikes that his Secret Service agents use and they always talk about getting their asses kicked.
6) We call it Bike Force One.
Mythbusting POTUS' Bike:
1) No, I have never met him. And while the shop owner has been to the White House to meet him, I, and few other mechanics that work on his bike, are just as low on the food chain as his janitorial staff.
2) No, I do not nor will I ever sabotage his bike. Why does everyone get a kick out of asking me this? Would you do it? Yeah fucking right. I'd like to stay as far away from Gitmo as possible thank you very much.
3) No, I don't think his bike is wired for surveillance. It's a bicycle, stupid.
4) Our tax dollars at work? Riight. It's a bicycle; just another drop in the bucket. He probably spends more money on his haircuts.
5) Yes, he does actually ride the thing and that bike gets beaten to a pulp on a regular basis. We also fix the bikes that his Secret Service agents use and they always talk about getting their asses kicked.
6) We call it Bike Force One.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Bridging the Gap: Saying Yes
Today was a bit of a shit show at the shop. Saturdays usually are, but today the entire workload fell on my and Dimmy's shoulders. We were constantly busy changing tubes, replacing spokes, and tuning bikes. Good thing I drank enough caffeine to raise the dead. My heart is still pounding. Aside from almost self-inducing a heart attack, it was pretty much business as usual.
The one interesting thing that happened today was some guy who came in to get his girlfriend's bike fixed. Like most of our customers, he didn't really plan ahead and wanted something done on the spot, in this case it was a spoke replacement. Normally, the wait for that is anywhere from an hour to two days (our standard turnover for labor) and normally, I wouldn't have even flinched telling to wait. Today, I did the repair on the spot. The guy was taking his girlfriend out on a bike ride to propose to her. My tiny black heart melted a little and I got suckered into busting my ass to turn around the work order. But now the day's over and I've had a few beers, I got to thinking that the "I'm proposing today" excuse works really well in most situations. So whenever I'm pressed for time I'll use that excuse and have everything go my way. Next time I'm at the DMV, I'll just say that I need my registration renewed immediately so I can drive my girlfriend (or lack thereof) to the ever so generic "makeout point" to propose to her. Doctor's exam? "Hey doc, could you please hurry up and tell me if I have herpes so I can propose to my girlfriend?" The excuse would even work at the grocery store. "Yes. I am proposing to my girlfriend today and that is why I need to cut in front of you with my two six-packs of beer, hotdogs, and potato chips." I could pretty much rule the world. "Listen, just let me be the president for like two days so I can propose to my girlfriend from Air Force One." On a more serious note, don't any of you think about pulling that shit on me again. I'll let one of those go, mostly because it provides good blog fodder, but the next person that makes that kind of request better show me the ring, invite me to the wedding and reception, and make me the godfather of their first-born child.
The one interesting thing that happened today was some guy who came in to get his girlfriend's bike fixed. Like most of our customers, he didn't really plan ahead and wanted something done on the spot, in this case it was a spoke replacement. Normally, the wait for that is anywhere from an hour to two days (our standard turnover for labor) and normally, I wouldn't have even flinched telling to wait. Today, I did the repair on the spot. The guy was taking his girlfriend out on a bike ride to propose to her. My tiny black heart melted a little and I got suckered into busting my ass to turn around the work order. But now the day's over and I've had a few beers, I got to thinking that the "I'm proposing today" excuse works really well in most situations. So whenever I'm pressed for time I'll use that excuse and have everything go my way. Next time I'm at the DMV, I'll just say that I need my registration renewed immediately so I can drive my girlfriend (or lack thereof) to the ever so generic "makeout point" to propose to her. Doctor's exam? "Hey doc, could you please hurry up and tell me if I have herpes so I can propose to my girlfriend?" The excuse would even work at the grocery store. "Yes. I am proposing to my girlfriend today and that is why I need to cut in front of you with my two six-packs of beer, hotdogs, and potato chips." I could pretty much rule the world. "Listen, just let me be the president for like two days so I can propose to my girlfriend from Air Force One." On a more serious note, don't any of you think about pulling that shit on me again. I'll let one of those go, mostly because it provides good blog fodder, but the next person that makes that kind of request better show me the ring, invite me to the wedding and reception, and make me the godfather of their first-born child.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Kickin' It and Freeballin'
If you were to ask me why my feet and legs hurt and why my knee was bleeding, 99.999% of the time the answer would be something cycling/beer related. Not today! After work, I put on my new kicks and got my futbol on. I literally haven't played soccer since I was in 8th grade, but figured it would provide me with a healthy distraction from bicycles. Sure it was healthy, but like so many things that are healthy, it was also extremely embarrassing*. I probably suck more at soccer than I do at riding bikes. There was something about all that positive reinforcement that led me to believe I was once good at it. Somewhere between the orange slices at halftime and the magnificent trophy I always got at the end of the season, I lost any real perspective I might've had on my performance as a soccer player. Sure, I could run but I might as well have tied my shoelaces together whenever the ball came my way. A drunk infant could dribble around me blindfolded. I was fortunate enough to relive those fantastic memories once again tonight but this time my self-evaluation wasn't skewed by thoughts of fruit snacks and juices boxes. One might think that I'm being a bit rough on myself or that I'm really not that bad. False. I am that bad, but the silver lining here is that I actually did something that was mildly enjoyable. I ran around, got hurt, drank beer, and, more importantly, didn't think about bikes for a few hours. And while I got frustrated while I was playing, after the fact, it didn't really matter because I was just kicking around a piece of leather and rubber.
In other news:
If you happen to be at Interbike or Eurobike, keep an eye out for any video material by Gore Ride-On Cables. A crew from Gore came into the shop this morning (9am) and filmed some material to promote their products. We just happen to be the largest Gore Cable retailer in the nation so they chose our store to show off to the rest of the industry.** Part of the filming involved interviews of a random salesperson, the General Manager, Full Pimpin', and myself, playing the role of 'mechanic', 'service manager', and 'general whipping boy'. I now know what it feels like to be on the set of a porno. Obnoxious lights, a camera guy having lots of fun with the zoom, a sound guy whose hair and mustache were clearly a post-modern interpretation of a Ron Jeremy-Broom fusion, and a few other people who sat quietly in the background giving little hints on what I should say and do. The only thing missing was the cue cards. The entire thing was pretty uneventful. I said stuff about Gore cables that I really meant and then other people said things about Gore cables that they knew nothing about. The best part of the experience was getting mic'd up by the sound guy. I was listening to a couple pointers that the interviewer had for me and barely noticed the guy pinning my shirt with the microphone. Two seconds later, he's clipping the battery pack to back of my pants, inside the waistline of my jeans. In keeping with the porn motif, I wasn't wearing underwear and pretty much flashed the sound guy with the crack of my ass. Surprise! Ass an added bonus, I was the first to be filmed today so the two other guys after me got plenty familiar with the Ass Mic. So if you ever happen to get a hold of this sexy Gore cable footage, just remember that the semi-surly mechanic wearing makeup foundation*** isn't wearing drawers and that mic may or may not have skidmarks on it.****
Endnotes:
* Things that are also healthy and embarrassing: Eating anything with the word "tofu" and the look everyone makes while flossing.
** and the world
***Apparently my face is shiny in the mornings when I rush out of bed, don't shower, and spend 30 minutes screaming in rush hour traffic.
****No, not really. Sicko.
In other news:
If you happen to be at Interbike or Eurobike, keep an eye out for any video material by Gore Ride-On Cables. A crew from Gore came into the shop this morning (9am) and filmed some material to promote their products. We just happen to be the largest Gore Cable retailer in the nation so they chose our store to show off to the rest of the industry.** Part of the filming involved interviews of a random salesperson, the General Manager, Full Pimpin', and myself, playing the role of 'mechanic', 'service manager', and 'general whipping boy'. I now know what it feels like to be on the set of a porno. Obnoxious lights, a camera guy having lots of fun with the zoom, a sound guy whose hair and mustache were clearly a post-modern interpretation of a Ron Jeremy-Broom fusion, and a few other people who sat quietly in the background giving little hints on what I should say and do. The only thing missing was the cue cards. The entire thing was pretty uneventful. I said stuff about Gore cables that I really meant and then other people said things about Gore cables that they knew nothing about. The best part of the experience was getting mic'd up by the sound guy. I was listening to a couple pointers that the interviewer had for me and barely noticed the guy pinning my shirt with the microphone. Two seconds later, he's clipping the battery pack to back of my pants, inside the waistline of my jeans. In keeping with the porn motif, I wasn't wearing underwear and pretty much flashed the sound guy with the crack of my ass. Surprise! Ass an added bonus, I was the first to be filmed today so the two other guys after me got plenty familiar with the Ass Mic. So if you ever happen to get a hold of this sexy Gore cable footage, just remember that the semi-surly mechanic wearing makeup foundation*** isn't wearing drawers and that mic may or may not have skidmarks on it.****
Endnotes:
* Things that are also healthy and embarrassing: Eating anything with the word "tofu" and the look everyone makes while flossing.
** and the world
***Apparently my face is shiny in the mornings when I rush out of bed, don't shower, and spend 30 minutes screaming in rush hour traffic.
****No, not really. Sicko.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Pudding for Brains
Stupid beach bums in North Carolina can go to hell.
How frustrating is it to deal with another bike shop in a different state? It's about as frustrating as being told that Jello Pudding causes AIDS. You'd expect that most people would know that Jello doesn't cause AIDS and that, in fact, the two cannot even be put on same the Venn Diagram. But if someone calls you as if you're the Jello factory and claims that you're giving all your customers AIDS, it takes all the restraint in the world not to jump through the phone receiver and choke out the person on the other end.
Here's the scenario:
A customer gets a bike from my shop and takes it on vacation to the Outer Banks, NC. The pedal, according to him and the experts at the 'bike shop,' someone over-torqued the threads on the drive-side pedals, stripping them out and causing the pedal to fall off.* Fine. We made a mistake and it's a pretty easy fix. Take the crank off with the right tool and put in a heli-coil. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a heli-coil is a cylinder with threads on both the outside and inside. A drill and tap are used to remove the old threads and cut new ones that are a larger diameter, just large enough to fit the outer threads of the heli-coil. The helicoil is then threaded in and bonded in place with high-grade Loctite and voilà you have a fresh set of threads to put your pedal through. It's a pretty simple procedure that just about any shop can perform. It can save several irreplaceable vintage cranks and only costs roughly $20 for parts and labor. This bike shop refused to do this citing some retarded hick excuse about Trek's warranty coming back to bite them in the ass. They aren't even a Trek dealer. I actually don't know what they deal (other than drugs) because they don't even have a website. I told them explicitly that I would take full responsibility and cover any problems should the heli-coil fail**. Not good enough said Kevin in his southern drawl. He was still concerned and wanted simply to replace the crank. He claimed that no one in the Outer Banks would do a heli-coil on any bike that wasn't sold through their shop. Why? Because there's too much "liability" with them. Bullshit. But seeing this going nowhere, and hoping to actually get some physical work done, I acquiesced and told them to put a new crank on. So instead of the shop having to pay for a $20 procedure, we would have to fork over $80 for some random piece of shit crank to be installed. I offered to reimburse the customer either with an in-store credit or pay for the work to be done. He chose the latter and I asked to speak with the shop manager to arrange payment over the phone via the shop's credit card. No good, Kevin said. "How do I know you're not going to turn to Trek and try to get this money back?" I nearly lost it. It's Trek Bicycles, not the Soviet Union! He wanted to speak to the credit card owner, which I refused since it was entirely irrelevant because I was authorized to use it and The Pinkster wasn't there. Finally, he caved and said he would call me after the work had been done to take down my credit card number. Four hours*** later, he calls me and says that he had already rung out the customer, who will bring the receipt to the shop to get reimbursed. I couldn't believe it. Professional courtesy, my ass.
So if a bike shop can't put a heli-coil in because of some kind of Outer Banks superstition about warranties, won't putting on a non-OEM crank put some kind of voodoo hex on the shop? I'm pretty sure that if I tell you to do a heli-coil on my bike, or a bike that was sold from my shop, and that I will pay you on the spot with a credit card, it will not cause the heavens to rain down frogs and locusts. But what do I know? I don't even eat Jello pudding****.
Endnotes:
*Usually, when pedals are tightened too much they simple don't budge and are pretty much immovable. Stripped threads are usually a result of crossthreading left and right pedal spindles. If you didn't know there was a difference between right and left pedals, you suck. Go here.
**Done right, they don't fail. Why would anyone do something if they knew it had a high probablity of failure?
***Four fucking hours!? How does it take a piece of shit bike shop in the Outer Banks four hours to put a new crank on? At the most it takes 30 minutes and that includes having enough time to replace the bottom bracket if a different brand crank is being used. (SunTour cranks need a different spindle length than Shimano cranks do)
****PSHT! Yeah right. I fucking love Jello pudding and I could run that bike shop with my fucking pinkie toe.
How frustrating is it to deal with another bike shop in a different state? It's about as frustrating as being told that Jello Pudding causes AIDS. You'd expect that most people would know that Jello doesn't cause AIDS and that, in fact, the two cannot even be put on same the Venn Diagram. But if someone calls you as if you're the Jello factory and claims that you're giving all your customers AIDS, it takes all the restraint in the world not to jump through the phone receiver and choke out the person on the other end.
Here's the scenario:
A customer gets a bike from my shop and takes it on vacation to the Outer Banks, NC. The pedal, according to him and the experts at the 'bike shop,' someone over-torqued the threads on the drive-side pedals, stripping them out and causing the pedal to fall off.* Fine. We made a mistake and it's a pretty easy fix. Take the crank off with the right tool and put in a heli-coil. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a heli-coil is a cylinder with threads on both the outside and inside. A drill and tap are used to remove the old threads and cut new ones that are a larger diameter, just large enough to fit the outer threads of the heli-coil. The helicoil is then threaded in and bonded in place with high-grade Loctite and voilà you have a fresh set of threads to put your pedal through. It's a pretty simple procedure that just about any shop can perform. It can save several irreplaceable vintage cranks and only costs roughly $20 for parts and labor. This bike shop refused to do this citing some retarded hick excuse about Trek's warranty coming back to bite them in the ass. They aren't even a Trek dealer. I actually don't know what they deal (other than drugs) because they don't even have a website. I told them explicitly that I would take full responsibility and cover any problems should the heli-coil fail**. Not good enough said Kevin in his southern drawl. He was still concerned and wanted simply to replace the crank. He claimed that no one in the Outer Banks would do a heli-coil on any bike that wasn't sold through their shop. Why? Because there's too much "liability" with them. Bullshit. But seeing this going nowhere, and hoping to actually get some physical work done, I acquiesced and told them to put a new crank on. So instead of the shop having to pay for a $20 procedure, we would have to fork over $80 for some random piece of shit crank to be installed. I offered to reimburse the customer either with an in-store credit or pay for the work to be done. He chose the latter and I asked to speak with the shop manager to arrange payment over the phone via the shop's credit card. No good, Kevin said. "How do I know you're not going to turn to Trek and try to get this money back?" I nearly lost it. It's Trek Bicycles, not the Soviet Union! He wanted to speak to the credit card owner, which I refused since it was entirely irrelevant because I was authorized to use it and The Pinkster wasn't there. Finally, he caved and said he would call me after the work had been done to take down my credit card number. Four hours*** later, he calls me and says that he had already rung out the customer, who will bring the receipt to the shop to get reimbursed. I couldn't believe it. Professional courtesy, my ass.
So if a bike shop can't put a heli-coil in because of some kind of Outer Banks superstition about warranties, won't putting on a non-OEM crank put some kind of voodoo hex on the shop? I'm pretty sure that if I tell you to do a heli-coil on my bike, or a bike that was sold from my shop, and that I will pay you on the spot with a credit card, it will not cause the heavens to rain down frogs and locusts. But what do I know? I don't even eat Jello pudding****.
Endnotes:
*Usually, when pedals are tightened too much they simple don't budge and are pretty much immovable. Stripped threads are usually a result of crossthreading left and right pedal spindles. If you didn't know there was a difference between right and left pedals, you suck. Go here.
**Done right, they don't fail. Why would anyone do something if they knew it had a high probablity of failure?
***Four fucking hours!? How does it take a piece of shit bike shop in the Outer Banks four hours to put a new crank on? At the most it takes 30 minutes and that includes having enough time to replace the bottom bracket if a different brand crank is being used. (SunTour cranks need a different spindle length than Shimano cranks do)
****PSHT! Yeah right. I fucking love Jello pudding and I could run that bike shop with my fucking pinkie toe.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Smells and Smog
My feet smell. They have all week. They smell because my shop shoes smell. I've been working at the shop too much and it stinks. There isn't much I can do about it. All the running around, lifting, grunting, and anger pretty much come with the territory. I guess it doesn't help that I don't wear socks or that I stole my 'shop shoes' from a hobo, but in the end I really don't think about where my shoes came from as much as what just died in them. Also, as an added bonus, I kicked off my shoes after close and wore my flip-flops as I cleaned up my bench and swept the floor. Now I have grease under my toenails. Great. Fuck. Just add that to a face covered in enough grease to repel water and a week's worth of dirty shop laundry that reeks of rubber, grease, and ass. What you get is a surly mechanic that wants nothing but to provide you with the means of pursuing your hobby while his slowly dies.
Outside my bitter world of smells and shop rage, there's some Olympics thing going on in Beijing, which as I've been told is not the state to the left of Wyoming. Critics are already predicting sub-world record breaking times because of the pollution, but I won't let that keep me from watching. What will keep me from watching the Olympics this year (aside from work) will be the fact that watching athletes competing while simultaneously being poisoned by their surroundings. If I wanted to see people puking in a swimming pool, I'd get drunk at a pool party and video tape it.
Also:
I ordered one of these. Beer. Bikes. Good.
Outside my bitter world of smells and shop rage, there's some Olympics thing going on in Beijing, which as I've been told is not the state to the left of Wyoming. Critics are already predicting sub-world record breaking times because of the pollution, but I won't let that keep me from watching. What will keep me from watching the Olympics this year (aside from work) will be the fact that watching athletes competing while simultaneously being poisoned by their surroundings. If I wanted to see people puking in a swimming pool, I'd get drunk at a pool party and video tape it.
Also:
I ordered one of these. Beer. Bikes. Good.
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