project guys
I met the Retriever while going through Craigslist, trawling for another fixed gear. The Centurion that Bruce had loaned me was fine, but I had been meaning to give it back to him. It was, after all, a loan, and I wanted something that was more optimized for commuting, with rack brazeons and a less finicky fender setup. I had also succumbed to that urge that afflicts some bike geeks from time to time -- the urge to have a project bike.
It is a feature of bicycles that their design and mechanics are fairly simple and easy to understand. In order to make a bike roll, you need wheels. In order to turn the wheels, you need a pair of gears attached by a chain. In order to turn the gears, you need pedals. All of these things you can learn in the course of an ambitious afternoon, and then you can start on the road of being your own mechanic, replacing parts on your bike as they wear out. Replacing worn parts leads to installing new upgrades. Installing upgrades leads to seeing some vintage bike at a garage sale for $50, and thinking to yourself, "well, it would be perfect for me except for the saddle, and the tires, and the chain's a little worn. But, I can totally replace all of that on my own."
That's the nucleus of the project bike urge, and it's what informs a subculture of folks who trawl the secondary markets of swap meets, Salvation Armies and Craigslist, looking for bargains and deals, and mulling around arcane and particular combinations of parts that may not necessarily be found on the average bike shop. It reminds me a lot of the indie Build Your Own PC scene of the 90s and early 00's, when hobbyists would build their own computers from white box OEM parts because it was either cheaper or better than what you could buy from HP or Dell at the time.
I had contacted The Retriever based on a listing he had for an old Raleigh in my size. The paint was heavily damaged and the parts weren't great, but I didn't really care about those as much as the frame, and if the cosmetic faults caused him to drop the price on the bike, then all the better. Unfortunately, the bike sold before I could look at it, but The Retriever emailed me to say that he had another Raleigh that he was working on and planning on posting to Craiglist.
"Another one, hmm? Something tells me that this isn't your run of the mill guy looking to clear out his basement."
From the outside, the Retriever's house looks like any modest two family in the middle of Huron Village. The lawn is overgrown. The windows are a little dusty. It could probably use a coat of paint, but presenting a proper exterior to the neighbors is not a priority. Step inside the Retriever's house and it might look a little spartan. There's furniture but none of it is new, yet there isn't the sort of density of accumulation that appears endemic to old houses in Cambridge. Head down into his basement though, and you will find it crammed from one end to the next, with bins and bins of bike parts obsessively catalogued and organized. "Yeah," he said, "back in the 90s, I bought the parts inventory of a local bike shop that was going out of business. And I'd use it to build some bikes. Swap the bikes to someone for something else. Sell some. Buy something else. It's what I do."
It's like the apartment of a vigilante or conspiracy theorist that you might see in a movie, covered in newspaper clippings that display a signal in what appears to be random noise. The bike that you want is all here, if you can find the parts.
For a while, as a hobby to fill his hours while looking for a job, lepidosiren had started building project bikes. It was, in some ways a natural extension of his car hobby, except that buying and refurbishing vintage Nishiki road bikes is much more affordable than reconditioning a 50s muscle car. He would trawl Craigslist and swap meets, not looking for anything that he'd want to ride, but anything that would make for an intriguing project. Interesting looking parts that could be combined into something fetching. I asked him once if he could take a guess about the breakdown of Craigslist sellers -- like if you split bike listings into
The bike that TheRetriever was looking to sell was a bit smaller than what I was used to, but still close enough to my size that it would work its intended purpose, as an all around, short distance city bike. The handlebars weren't great, and the rear wheel was a little out of true, but no matter. I can fix that.
As we shook on it and sealed the deal, TheRetriever told me (and hence my nickname for him), "you know, I go back to England about once or twice a year, and ship back a pallet of old Raleighs that I fix up here and just sell. If you're ever looking for anything specific, let me know and I'll see what I can find."
I thanked him for the suggestion, but that I wasn't one of those folks in the habit of building stables of bikes in their house. Still, I think of him from time to time when I see some heavily modded Raleigh chained up to a rack or post somewhere, and when I ride past quiet houses in Cambridge, imagining shadow bike shops lurking in their basements.
It is a feature of bicycles that their design and mechanics are fairly simple and easy to understand. In order to make a bike roll, you need wheels. In order to turn the wheels, you need a pair of gears attached by a chain. In order to turn the gears, you need pedals. All of these things you can learn in the course of an ambitious afternoon, and then you can start on the road of being your own mechanic, replacing parts on your bike as they wear out. Replacing worn parts leads to installing new upgrades. Installing upgrades leads to seeing some vintage bike at a garage sale for $50, and thinking to yourself, "well, it would be perfect for me except for the saddle, and the tires, and the chain's a little worn. But, I can totally replace all of that on my own."
That's the nucleus of the project bike urge, and it's what informs a subculture of folks who trawl the secondary markets of swap meets, Salvation Armies and Craigslist, looking for bargains and deals, and mulling around arcane and particular combinations of parts that may not necessarily be found on the average bike shop. It reminds me a lot of the indie Build Your Own PC scene of the 90s and early 00's, when hobbyists would build their own computers from white box OEM parts because it was either cheaper or better than what you could buy from HP or Dell at the time.
I had contacted The Retriever based on a listing he had for an old Raleigh in my size. The paint was heavily damaged and the parts weren't great, but I didn't really care about those as much as the frame, and if the cosmetic faults caused him to drop the price on the bike, then all the better. Unfortunately, the bike sold before I could look at it, but The Retriever emailed me to say that he had another Raleigh that he was working on and planning on posting to Craiglist.
"Another one, hmm? Something tells me that this isn't your run of the mill guy looking to clear out his basement."
From the outside, the Retriever's house looks like any modest two family in the middle of Huron Village. The lawn is overgrown. The windows are a little dusty. It could probably use a coat of paint, but presenting a proper exterior to the neighbors is not a priority. Step inside the Retriever's house and it might look a little spartan. There's furniture but none of it is new, yet there isn't the sort of density of accumulation that appears endemic to old houses in Cambridge. Head down into his basement though, and you will find it crammed from one end to the next, with bins and bins of bike parts obsessively catalogued and organized. "Yeah," he said, "back in the 90s, I bought the parts inventory of a local bike shop that was going out of business. And I'd use it to build some bikes. Swap the bikes to someone for something else. Sell some. Buy something else. It's what I do."
It's like the apartment of a vigilante or conspiracy theorist that you might see in a movie, covered in newspaper clippings that display a signal in what appears to be random noise. The bike that you want is all here, if you can find the parts.
For a while, as a hobby to fill his hours while looking for a job, lepidosiren had started building project bikes. It was, in some ways a natural extension of his car hobby, except that buying and refurbishing vintage Nishiki road bikes is much more affordable than reconditioning a 50s muscle car. He would trawl Craigslist and swap meets, not looking for anything that he'd want to ride, but anything that would make for an intriguing project. Interesting looking parts that could be combined into something fetching. I asked him once if he could take a guess about the breakdown of Craigslist sellers -- like if you split bike listings into
- "I bought this bike x years ago and no longer ride it because I (bought an upgrade\no longer ride\no longer like this style)"
- "I found this in my basement. I don't know what it is, but I want to sell it for cash."
- "This is a project. I spent four weeks rebuiding this and I'm selling it so I can use the proceed to build something else."
The bike that TheRetriever was looking to sell was a bit smaller than what I was used to, but still close enough to my size that it would work its intended purpose, as an all around, short distance city bike. The handlebars weren't great, and the rear wheel was a little out of true, but no matter. I can fix that.
As we shook on it and sealed the deal, TheRetriever told me (and hence my nickname for him), "you know, I go back to England about once or twice a year, and ship back a pallet of old Raleighs that I fix up here and just sell. If you're ever looking for anything specific, let me know and I'll see what I can find."
I thanked him for the suggestion, but that I wasn't one of those folks in the habit of building stables of bikes in their house. Still, I think of him from time to time when I see some heavily modded Raleigh chained up to a rack or post somewhere, and when I ride past quiet houses in Cambridge, imagining shadow bike shops lurking in their basements.