The Aragon Project: Workshopophobia

First, some background:

I read an article in a motorcycling magazine about the benefits of a buying and riding a used Honda motorcycle. This was in 1986, and I was killing time during study hall in my high school library. The pictures of the Hondas with their chrome gas tanks slicing down curvy, Maine backroads with the fall leaves spiraling from beneath their tires were simply romantic. Forget crotch rockets or Harley-Davidsons. I wanted a 1960's Honda. (I still do.)

That weekend I drove to Sioux Falls with some friends, and we visited a motorcycle shop that sold used bikes. I walked through the motorcycles out front, and I checked out inventory inside, but I didn't see any chrome tanks. I approached a grizzled, heavy-set man at the counter and asked, "Do you have any older bikes out back? I'm looking for a Honda from the 60's. I know a lot of them are probably in the junk yard, but I was hoping to you would have a nice one for sale."

His eyes narrowed. He placed the cigar he was smoking on the counter and blew smoke in my face. He then turned red and exploded, "Junk yard? Junk Yard! DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A JUNK YARD?" I told him that wasn't what I meant, but he couldn't hear me. I don't remember what else he yelled, but he ranted and spat for over a minute before he pointed at the door and told me to never come back.

My friends had snuck out during his tirade and were waiting for me by the car. They asked, "What'd you say that made him so mad?" I didn't know. He had really scared me, and I was pretty shook up. I hadn't been verbally attacked like that by an adult before.

Since then, I have always dreaded walking into a workshop and asking a stranger for help.

Okay, back to the Aragon project:

I wanted to get a 27" x 1 1/8" wheel so the front of my bike would match the rear. I checked Amazon, eBay, and Craigslist. It turns out that the 1 1/8" size is hard to find. I emailed the Des Moines Bike Collective to see if they sell used wheels. They do.

I took Wednesday off from work, and drove around town hitting the thrift stores. I found one surprise for Charlotte that I'll write about later. I knew that the Bike Collective was open at ten, but I put off visiting the bike shop until 11:30. I took a deep breath and went in.

I was greeted by Stewart*, an older gentleman wearing a bike apron, one of those cycling hats with the small brim, and a kind smile. There wasn't a cigar in sight. I explained what I was looking for, and Stew told me we might have a small chance of finding a front rim in that size. He scanned the wheels hanging from the ceiling rack above us. His eyes stopped, and he used a long pole to unhook a wheel and bring it down to earth. Stewart rotated the wheel so he could read the tire's sidewall, and then he lightly slapped my arm with the back of his hand, "You should buy a lottery ticket today!"

(*Not his real name. I didn't ask if I could write about him.)

I had my wheel!

Stewart spun the axle with his fingers and said he thought it felt "pity." He offered me an hour of bench time to fix it, and I agreed. Bench time buys you access to a work bench stocked with professional tools and a bike mechanic who will teach you how to do the job. It's ten dollars an hour.

The coolest part about bench time is that the mechanic does not do the work for you. Stewart explained to me the steps to removing the axle, and then he left me to do the job. He would stop by to approve or correct my progress and then go work with someone else for awhile. After an hour, I had learned how to service the front hub. I had a wheel with newly greased bearings, a better axle, and it had been trued. I was also able to get another Campagnolo skewer.

Stew smiled and slapped my arm again when we were done, "That's better than when it was new!"

The best part is I might be over my workshopophobia. Thanks again, Stewart!

Not all of my heroes are on stamps.