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.

Unlocked and Loaded (into the car)

My dad stored some of his things at my cousin Curt's acreage. I recognized some of his stuff, but others items seem to have come from nowhere. The bicycle I found in Curt's machine shed is a good example. 

I hadn't seen my father riding a bike since I was in elementary school. As far as I knew, he had zero interest in bicycles. Guns and golf were all he cared about. So what was he doing with a 1979 Schwinn Voyageur 11.8? My mom didn't have any ideas, and neither did Curt. The man with the answers is regrettably silent.

"Dead men tell no tales." Thomas Becon (c. 1560)

A smaller mystery is the bike lock that's wrapped around the seat post. 

I removed the post and freed the chain, but I didn't have the lock's combination. It's been hanging from a garage shelf ever since. I walk past the lock everyday, but I haven't seen it in six years.

I noticed the lock last night, and I wondered if I could get it open. There are several YouTube videos with tips of how to deal with this type of lock when you've lost the combination. Look it up if you're interested. 

Remember: if it's your lock, then you can do this legally. If it's not your lock, then this is called stealing. Make good choices, kids.

I turned and pulled for a few minutes before bedtime. I had a little success. I thought that I had two numbers right (6 and 1). This morning I figured out the other two numbers (3 and 5).  I was surprised and elated when the lock slid open. 

It's as if one part of the bike's puzzle has been solved. 

As a theft deterrent, the lock might as well be made of yarn. The chain would bore a bolt cutter. But as a vintage bike accessory, this is lock is kind of cool. I suppose I'll hang it back up in the garage and forget about it again. 

The Voyageur is also hanging in my garage, I'll blog about that soon.

Well, That's a Switch

Last year I took home this grinder that was standing by the curb on spring clean-up day. The owner's manual is from 1953, so I can only assume the handmade wooden stand was constructed and the motor and grinder were installed about that time.

The components cleaned up well, and I added polishing wheels. I really enjoy using the buffer, but I have to plug and unplug the cord to turn it on and off. There's no power switch.

This rusty bracket is a leftover from the bench that I made for Daphne. It may look bad, but it is solid.

I removed the rust by using the grinder's wire brush and a bath of Evapo-Rust.

I've been trying to think of a way to use the bracket since July. An idea hit me yesterday while I was walking out of the dentist's office. I know... I have a vintage toggle switch that I have been wanting to use with the buffer. Could I modify that bracket and use it to mount the switch?

In a word, yes.

I drilled out the bracket's existing middle hole to accommodate the toggle. Then I used the switch to mark the spots to drill the holes for the screws.

I drilled a hole in the table so I could route the power cord underneath.

One side of the power cord was cut and connected to the switch. I used two wood screws to attach the bracket to the table.

I drilled another hole to run the cord out the back. I fastened the safety clip that was inside the motor to the cord on the inside of the hole.

I decided to mount the bracket so I could see some metal. Why hide it? The switch works well. The "thunk" you feel when the switch is engaged is an added bonus. 

The bracket's bare metal will begin to rust again, so I need to take this apart and spray paint the bracket with Rust-Oleum. I think I'll use clear. I like the metal's weathered surface; it looks appropriate for a tool that's over 60 years old.

I said to myself, You know what? I bet somebody else would think that this switch has always been here. It looks just like something some old dude back in the day would come up with.

Then it hit me. I am that old dude.

Crap.

A Daddy-Daughter Weekend Recap

Yep, we survived our weekend together.  I figured I'd be working in the garage for most of the day while Char sped past on her bike. But for the first time in months there wasn't a kid in our neighborhood for Char to play with. That was okay with me. I like to stay as far away as I can from 'tween drama. 

Most of my activity ideas went out the window. Charlotte didn't want to see a current movie without Daphne. The rain kept us from Adventureland, miniature golf, the zoo, and feeding the ducks. 

We did a lot of things I didn't take pictures of. It's hard to use your camera when someone is holding your hand or laying on top of you on the couch. 

We did make it to the Vintage and Made Fair in Adel. Char wears those Harry potter glasses everywhere. I cannot tell you why.

The double decker bus was there again. It's filled with vintage women's clothing. Here's Char playing between the two "dressing rooms"on the top level.

 We bought some presents.

I bought this can of Super Lube for my desk at school.

It's actually a radio.

Yes, we went to Goodwill. No, I did not buy the poop emoji pillow. Can you imagine putting your head on someone's used poop pillow?

I tried to be responsible. We did her math homework together, and I made sure she practiced the piano.

Different Goodwill. Different day. She thought putting Xmas lights in a bottle was very creative, but she didn't want to buy the "lamp." She just wanted to pose with it. (You can't see them, but she's wearing socks that match her shirt.)

One plan that came to fruition was a visit to the Operating Room arcade in Ankeny. I wouldn't have picked it out for her, but one of Char's favorite games is Super Bikes 3. 

We went shopping at HyVee, and I basically said yes to any snack that she asked for. We didn't go too wild, tho. We brought home peanuts, cheese balls, a bag of Munchos, and a regular bottle of Gatorade (not the G2 stuff Mom buys.) We also bought a box of Donettes. As a cereal, they look awful. I do think they'd be good in a snack mix.

Charlotte said, "That was the most satisfying shopping experience that I have ever had," while we were walking through the parking lot with our groceries.

Daphne got home on Sunday afternoon at 5:00. I think we all looked a little relived when her car pulled into the driveway. I asked Char how she would rate our weekend together, and she said, "I'd give it a 100 out of 5!" 

High praise, indeed.

Take a Deeeeep Breath.

As of right now, this is the only picture on my phone:

I did the math, and this is blog post number 1000. That's a bit hard to believe. When I started this blog 7 1/2 years ago, I didn't envision I'd still be blogging. But here I am. Anyway, I knew if I wanted to get to blog post #1001, I'd have to do something about my phone. 

My phone is a Samsung Galaxy Note 5, and it has 32 GB of memory. Until today, the memory was so full, I had to delete pictures so the phone would function properly. I had used up 31.1 GB.

I tried using the Android File Transfer program, but I couldn't get it to recognize my phone on any of our computers. I could text one picture at a time to my laptop. I did that with the 70 pictures that I took in the Black Hills. Man, was that tedious.

I don't trust a cloud, so I finally asked my buddy Rob, who had given me the phone, what I could do. He pointed me to Techkey's OTG USB Flash Drive 64GB Memory Stick for Android Phones. Amazon sent it to me in one day, but instructions were not included. I watched several YouTube videos. Nope. I read several tutorials. Nope again. Finally, I found this page ----> link. Okay! Now I know how this works.

I took a deeeeep breath. Then I hit the "Move" function. I nervously fidgeted as 1,923 pictures and 76 videos of irreplaceable memories were whisked off my phone and onto a $10 flash drive. 

Years of birthday parties, Christmas programs, family vacations, school concerts, family visits, posing pets, summer camps, firework displays, fair foods, and our lives swirled down an electric funnel into a small, plastic repository that wasn't kind enough to arrive with directions. 

When the move was complete, I carefully unmounted (their word) the flash drive from my phone and plugged it into my laptop. From a loaf of San Francisco sourdough...

to the Aragon's head tube...

It was all there. Whew! 

Thanks, Rob! I copied the folder of phone pictures to an external hard drive. My phone is at 17.39 GB, and I'm ready for Daddy-Daughter weekend. "Hey Charlotte! Stand over there by the..."

A Daddy-Daughter Weekend

Daphne is driving down to St. Louis today to help Grandpa Andy and Grandma Maureen pack for their move to Des Moines. Daphne offered me a bachelor weekend of just taking care of our pets, but I didn't think Char would enjoy 11 hours in the car and filling cardboard boxes.

So, it's going to be a daddy-daughter weekend. I have a few plans for us. We'll have to see what the weather does. 

Charlotte colored this picture in church for me last year. She thought it was so funny to give me grey hair.

Actually, she gave me grey hair in real life, too. My first few daddy-daughter nights terrified me. I was only comfortable when she was in the car seat or in the crib. I don't feel that way anymore. Charlotte is fun to be with, she has good ideas, and she has a good heart. Still, it won't be as easy without Daphne around.

Yes, parenting is a lot of hard work... but you also get quite a view.

The Aragon Project: Back in the Saddle

I wanted to get a another replacement rear wheel for the Aragon, and I thought I had found another donor Schwinn on Craigslist. When I arrived to buy the bike, I discovered that the seller had removed its wheels. What? I have my suspicions about what happened, but I won't go into that.

Instead of explaining, the owner gruffly offered to look through his collection of parts to see if he had a 6 speed rim. What he found wasn't exactly what I wanted. The wheel was narrower than what I have on the Aragon, but I was facing more 5 o'clock traffic, and I didn't feel like coming home empty-handed.

It is nice not having to dismantle another working bike for its components, but I was regretting my $15 purchase on the drive home. But then I noticed that the wheel's skewer was stamped with the company logo for Campagnolo.

Campagnolo is an Italian company that makes high-end bicycle components, and "Who Hoo," the Aragon is going to get fancy. I installed the wheel as soon as I got home. I didn't bother cleaning the wheel because I didn't know if it would play nice with the Sugino sprockets.

The other side of the skewer looks neat, too.

The freewheel is a French made Maillard Helicomatic.

The Helicomatic does have the six gears that I wanted, and it is very quiet.

The Aragon was cruising the neighborhood after an adjustment to the rear derailleur and the rear brake. Luckily, the French freewheel and the Japanese crank paired nicely.

The size difference between the two wheels is noticeable. The front is 27 x 1 1/4. The rear is 27 x 1 1/8. The diameter is the same. Maybe it's the tires? I'll have to do some more research on sizes. Otherwise, I'll need another wheel that matches either the front or the back. This time I think I'll stay away from sketchy Craigslist sellers and visit a local bike shop.

So, the Aragon is back on the road for $15, and I feel good about that. I can go out into the garage and look at the bicycle with much less guilt.

The search for parts might not be over, but that's okay. The search is half of the fun.

The Aragon Project: A Setback

Better is the enemy of good.

The next step was to exchange the spoke protector. It's a purely cosmetic change. The plastic one on the Aragon is chipped, and I wanted to replace it with the metal protector on the bent rim. I thought the rim looked good, but I wanted the rim to look better.

To get to the spoke ring, I needed to remove the freewheel. The tool I needed arrived in the mail at noon. I'm still having trouble getting use to mail coming on Sundays.

The tool worked well on the bent rim's freewheel. I was holding a dirty freewheel and a polished spoke protector in just a few minutes.

The tool could not crack loose the freewheel on my good wheel, though. It slipped out over and over again. You can see how worn down the prongs became after a few tries.

I put everything back together and rode around our neighborhood. I figured I'd take the rim to a local bike shop and let them sort it out. But then I had an idea. I could use my vice

I tried bolting the tool to the freewheel and clamping the bolt in the bench vice. I tuned the wheel and thought it was working. But I didn't think it through and turned the wheel too far. The tool snapped apart, and the bolt that runs through the hub was damaged. The hammer I hit it with also didn't help. In defeat, I removed the tube, tire, and reflector and threw the tool and the rim in the trash.

I was so proud of using that rear wheel, and then I went ahead and broke it. I suppose it serves me right for not reading the instructions in my old bike repair book carefully enough.

I watched a Park Tool youtube video, and then thought I knew it all. This is the second time this bike has had a ruined rear wheel. I'm not back to square one, but it feels like it.

I should be used to these kinds of setbacks. When you are learning to work with cars, pinball machines, and bicycles that are between 30 and 60 years old, you have to expect a few hurdles. I learned from my mistake, and when I find and buy a replacement wheel,  I'll try to remember that I was going to spend money at a bike shop anyway.

Still makes me mad, though. I wanted to ride the Aragon tonight. 

Goodbye, Summer. Hello, Fall!

Last weekend was the last one for summer. We spent part of Saturday at Adventureland. 

It feels like it was just yesterday when we were there for our first day of summer.

We shopped at Costco, and the Queen of TP posed on her throne.

We've been doing this for four years...

Charlotte asked me, "Hey Dad, why did you take a picture of me wearing a costume and practicing the piano?"

I shrugged and replied, "Just because. Why are you wearing a costume and practicing the piano?"

She shrugged and replied, "Just because."

Summer is great, but I'm not sad to see it go. I'm not a summer-at-the-beach kind of guy. Shorts are fine, but I like it when the temperatures drops, and I can wear jackets and jeans.  I'd rather see breath puff from my mouth than have humidity blast me in my face. I don't like to shovel the driveway, but I also don't like to mow the yard. So that's a draw. Sure, I'd like to be home with my family, but we all need a break from each other. I'm fortunate that I have good friends who work at UHS, and I like the students in my classes. 

Fall is my favorite season. It runs from Sept. 23 to Dec. 21. During this time, we will have our anniversary dinner, Halloween candy, Thanksgiving turkey, and the cherry on top is that fall ends on the first day of winter break. Christmas will be hiding around the kitchen corner holding a plate of frosted cookies. There will be corn mazes, apple orchards, and pumpkin patches, too!

There is so much fun heading our way.