The 816 Bicycle Collective

The flyer for our fundraiser:

Hey everybody, we are holding a fundraiser August 22nd at Californos on Westport. Music, prizes, fun activities, and good people. Come out and support your local community bike shop. Tell your friends! More details to come! (There is even possibly an alley-cat race in the works that will end at the benefit.)

Lately members have been hard at work re-organizing and cleaning the shop the past few weeks. It’s easier to get around and we have some more lighting. Thank you to everybody that helped!

Electricity is working, wheel shed is full of wheels and is standing up nicely to our recent monsoon.

Lastly we have been working on a new manual for people wanting to know about the shop. It will have a lot of very useful information for anybody that’s been coming in for help and especially for people interested in volunteering or becoming a member.

-Scott

Mocktail Hour will be this Friday, April 16th at the center island between 43rd and Broadway in Westport. Free food and bike repair will be available so please come if you need help or would like to hang out. This is also a great opportunity for the KC Bicycle Federation to receive donations to be able to do more of these types of events. Hope to see you there!

Kenny Rogers said it best, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.”  Sometimes I reflect upon these simple words when working at the bike shop.  For instance, when someone’s been looking for a specific bolt with just the right threading, length, and what-have-you for a couple of hours, I think it’s totally kosher to throw in the towel and head on down to the hardware store.  I don’t mean to steal anyone’s thunder or anything, I know that it’s a great feeling when you happen upon a bolt or a washer or whatever that fits and makes something work just right.  It’s just that the hardware store’s got them jams for a dime, sometimes a nickel; problem solved.

 Halloween this year will be an open shop day.  Enough said, let’s plan some antics.

 The electricity in our shop has been in a state of flux since late August.  Unfortunately this electrical uncertainty has been heavily weighted toward the off side as we’ve only had one open shop day with electricity since it began.  This has made work days more difficult and the prospect of blogging on any kind of regular basis downright impossible.  This is, if I want to avoid writing things like, “Today really sucked and I wanted to destroy the entire building single-handedly with a sledge-hammer,” which I do . . . so that’s why I haven’t been writing.

 Idris has been overseeing the construction of our wheel-shed.  I’m sure he’d appreciate willing hands to help with its completion and its eventual decoration.  Think Saturday afternoon between 4:00 and 7:00 PM.

 Speaking of decorum, our front hall has recently been cleaned and is in dire need of gussying up.  Want to help?

 There’s currently an ongoing debate amongst our members weather or not the fourth-hand tool has been aptly named or not.  To a certain sect it seems as though it is merely a superior third-hand tool.  I can’t say that I entirely disagree with them.  After all, the fourth-hand tool essentially enables you to perform the job of two hands with one, thereby allowing your free hand to do whatever.  Hence, three hands.  Meanwhile, the third-hand tool we’re all familiar with does the job of one hand, leaving both your clumsy human paws to manage all the hard stuff.  It seems to me that the fourth-hand tool may have bested its contemporary on this front in that it does two difficult jobs and reserves the piece-of-cake task, i.e. tightening down a bolt, to us dopey humans.  Robots one, humans zero.   Perhaps a rechristening is in order?  Thoughts?

 We really need a basketball net.  Several offers have been made, none have come to fruition.

The benefit show?  Yes, the benefit show.  Well, the benefit show was a success by all accounts.  The night got off to a rough start as it was steadily sporadically raining just as our outdoor event was scheduled to kick off.  Sean and Suzanne made every effort to fill our hearts with eternal hope and optimism in regards to the weather.  Unfortunately it just wasn’t to be and eventually the rain had its wicked way with us.  Thankfully the kind hearts at Californos allowed us to move the evening’s proceedings indoors toward dryer environs.  All and all, the bands were great, the raffle prizes seemed well received, and spirits were generally high (e.g. group swaying to music, powerful high fives, multiple forms of novelty bicycles, etc. . .).  It should be said that matters were perhaps a little stressful for the Collective members during the show’s proceedings.  This however, in retrospect, very likely stems from our shared scatterbrainedness as it relates to our sense of collective responsibility for good times rather than any tangible bummers, flubs, or otherwise.

 Powerful high fives to all whom attended, well-wished, purchased soggy commodities, brought baked goods, hooked up electrical equipment during a rain storm, fabricated a lamp of bicycle parts, moved something in from the rain, bought drinks, etc. . .  Y’all are alright in our book.

Sorry folks. I’ve been a little lazy in regards to blogging. Generally speaking, I try to focus on the positive in my accounts. However, it would be silly of me to suggest and of you to believe that working in a bicycle co-op is all warm biscuits. In fact, it can be downright despicable at times.

For me, Tuesday night was just such an instance. The bicycle I was helping out with had been started during a previous shop session and remained a bit on the roughly hewn side when we picked up work on Tuesday. Unfortunately its recipient seemed unaware of its fragile nature and was altogether confident that the bicycle in question would be ready to ride following a little judicious tweaking. I hate having to burst people’s bubbles, you know? I’ll avoid a lengthy description of what went wrong with this project last night. Needless to say, our work experience ended with me feeling as though I had done very little to advance this project along, a feeling easily backed up with the tangible results of our labor. The net sum of our work on the bicycle actually placed us behind where its recipient believed the project to be at the beginning of Tuesday’s shop hours.

While working on the bicycle, I was very aware of a growing sense of frustration shared between myself and the recipient of the bicycle. My own brain cloud only seemed exacerbated by the sense of responsibility and unfulfilled duty in relation to our project. After closing I tried my best to avert my negative thoughts. Something that Abraham Lincoln had said kept popping into my mind as I comforted myself with some chocolate pie someone had brought, “. . . the better angels of our nature.” I couldn’t exactly place the line in its precise historical context, but was pretty sure it had something to do with making peace and averting war. Lincoln said a lot of things like that. I looked it up later and it’s actually from Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address. He writes,

I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

So we all know Lincoln was talking about the then miffed American South. However, I believe that these words can be awfully comforting to a miffed bike co-op member and a difficult build-a-bike project. Like the President said, the bicycle and I must not be enemies, we must be friends. While our bonds of affection have most certainly been strained by a night rife with total bummers, all that both of us need is a little time and a little pie and all wounds shall be healed.

Michael again. Yesterday was a day chalked full of Collective goodness. Things got off to an early start when I sopped by the shop to do some work on my own bicycle. I’ve been pestered by a persistent creak in my drive train for about a month or so. I had done just about everything one could do when it finally came time to inspect my pedals. Honestly, I didn’t really have a lot of hope going in, but overhauling my pedals managed to sooth my bicycle’s woeful laments. Afterwards, I rushed across town to drop off some fliers for our benefit show at a coffee shop before immediately returning to the shop to meet Kirk to do a little unlicensed electrical work. License or not, however, you can’t argue the fact that we managed to significantly improve the lighting situation in the shop area.

Kirk and I had to shuffle around a lot of nonsense in order to get into dark, murky corners, so things were a tad disorderly when Idris and Chris arrived to begin opening up the shop. Luckily we had some time to spare so we began a flurry of moving large piles of what-have-you to more obscure locations. Chris and I began hauling unclaimed bicycles out to the shed. Doing so, however, made it clear to Chris that the entire shed was due to be reorganized. He and I began pulling bicycles out and landing them to and fro. I think that doing this kind of freaked out some of the arriving Collective members as they were greeted with rather imposing assortments of bicycles in varying stages of disrepair and general wonkiness. Yet, starting such an imposing task shortly before opening turned out to be a splendid idea. Chris almost immediately began coordinating the folks that had arrived early into a rather organized little labor force. I sometimes marvel at Chris’s ability to wrangle up such dedicated support for the most unglamorous of tasks, e.g. schlepping around a bunch of grimy and dust coated bicycles. I think ol’ Chris could make a rather dashing Calvary general on par with the likes of George Armstrong Custer himself. Dude’s got bravado to spare.

The actually nitty gritty of the day, i. e. helping folks with bicycles, was a grand old time. I helped a kid fix up a mountain bike. It was his first multi-geared bicycle and he was pleased as punch to receive it. Throughout our time together he kept making comments to himself like, “Man, this bike is perfect. Everything’s just perfect on it.” At first I was a little uncertain of his confidence, but his youthful charm won me over when I saw him out on his test ride. His bicycle may not have been in absolute perfect shape according to my standards, but at that moment it was the perfect bicycle for him. You just can’t really argue joyful glee. Later, I got the opportunity to attack my first seized up seat post. I have read about these, but never come across one in reality. We began with lots of oil and a pair of channel-lock pliers. This didn’t really seem to be doing the trick, so I asked for some advice from Sean whom promptly fetched our Bianchi frame tube-enhanced large adjustable wrench and tightened it down top of the post. The wrench really brought the torque out of us and after a short while we managed to achieve lateral rotation. We reapplied the channel-locks and with more oil and sufficient upward pressure the darned thing finally freed itself from the clutches of the seat tube. It was the perfect way to end a shop day, encountering a much-rumored foe and gaining useful combat experience against this menace.

Later that night there was a punk show in the same building the Collective occupies. I arrived with some of the others and we somehow managed to make our way over to the shop. What started as mere friendly lollygagging quickly turned into a shop wide reorganization project while the show was in progress. The soothing sounds of Gene Autry kept us company while we began sorting through all sorts of nuts, washers, and all the little bits and pieces that generally coalesce into working bicycle parts. Perhaps this was not the most ideal time to take on such a task, but there was something alive and cooking in the shop last night and I feel that when the initiative to work on something is available, you have to seize upon it no matter the time.

To close, I’d like to briefly mention Suzanne’s band’s cover of “I Want You Back” by the Jackson 5 was a bright, glimmering instance of my summer ’09. It was a pleasant bow sitting atop a lovely birthday present of a day.

Michael again.  Sean, Sean’s friend, and I finished erecting the basketball goal on Tuesday evening.  Now all we need is a net and a ball and we’re all set for some righteous games of HORSE.  Bicycle-wise, the Collective was hopping last night.  There was a gaggle of folks waiting outside when we opened, most wanting to get set up with bicycles.  Kirk, Bri, Rick, Sean, and I jumped right in.  Some folks chose to work outside; however, after a while a storm forced them to return to the confines of the shop, which is arguably a dryer environment in which to work during the rain.  I contend that this gave the Collective a feeling of warmth and togetherness that helped ease the general dankness brought on by the leaky ceiling.  Who says you can’t have flu season all summer long?

 I helped out a young lady looking for a bicycle to get to and from school.  She selected a 10-speed Huffy Santa-Fe.  Say what you want about Huffy bicycles, the Santa Fe sports a fabulous southwestern-themed paintjob that’s soon to be the envy of all whom it encounters.  We exchanged the drop bars for some low-rise cruiser type bars.  Next we attacked the shifting system.  Unfortunately we encountered a bit of a road block at this step.  I began to notice some very strange things about the rear derailleur.  Several head scratches later I finally asked Sean.  I was informed that it was so weird because it’s what’s called a Positron rear derailleur.  Apparently the Positron derailleurs were Shimano’s first attempt at index-shifting.  The device uses a rather stiff shifting wire rather the kind of woven, flexible cable that we’re all used to in order to generate movement.  Sean advised me to ditch it entirely and switch the derailleurs and shifters out for something that wasn’t a complete and utter derailleur failure (oooh, dang).  Doing so went splendidly, the only real trouble we encountered in this process was the fact that I nearly blinded everyone within about four or five feet as I tried to finagle the Positron wire loose from its home of many, many years.  Needless to say, it didn’t want to go quietly.  We weren’t able to finish the bicycle during Tuesday’s hours.  However, with a little more TLC, the Santa Fe ought to be ready to hit the streets very soon.

Again, this is Michael and not Sean coming at you.  Don’t believe everything you read. Yesterday was an A-OK 816 experience by all accounts.  Idris, Sean, Andrew, Rick, and I did a little soap-boxing to promote the Collective at a vintage bicycle swap meet.  We managed to hand out a lot of pamphlets and started to spread the word about our August 16^th benefit show.  Also, lots of kindly folks donated various bike parts and what-have-you that they didn’t want to lug home.  One person in particular brought over a purple kids’ bike for the Collective that actually said “Awesome!” right on the side.  I feel that this will be a great selling point when it’s eventually redistributed to some lucky kid.  It will be very easy for an 816 member to say something like, “Look kid, your new bike’s friggin’ awesome.  You see?  Says so right there . . . awesome.”  And speaking of awesome, as lunchtime approached, Andrew made the executive decision to pick up 12-pack of Fat Tire Ale, which made the swap meet exponentially more awesome.

First, this isn’t really Sean.  This is Michael; what’s up?  Saturday was an intense 816 experience.  Sean and I arrived early to try our hand at busting through the asphalt so that we could dig a hole for the basketball goal.  After a few mighty swings of the sledge-hammer, a man by the name of Fidel came over and tried his hand, which proved to be a vastly superior hand.  Fidel, Sean, and I took turns alternating between whacking and digging before we had to open the shop.  Sean, Jenna, Chris, Rick, Idris, Suzanne, and I got things up and running, which was a good thing because there were about seven or eight folks waiting outside, all in various stages of heat-induced fits of anger over popped inner tubes and janky derailleurs.  I spent most of my time teaching kids how to patch their tubes, which isn’t very glamorous work.  The really glamorous work was handled by Fidel whose Dig Dug-influenced approach to posthole digging saw our basketball goal post firmly erected by days end.  Seriously though, we’re all very appreciative of Fidel’s hard work.  Vicious slam dunks and wicked layups will henceforth be made in his honor.

In addition to Fidel’s wonderfulness, Suzanne got some youngsters and not-so youngsters working together on an art-bike for the benefit show in August.  Also, a guy named Gary came by to get his tube patched and ended up sticking around and seemingly having an all around hell of a time for the remainder of the afternoon.  Gary was awesome because it was his first time to the Collective and he really seemed to grasp what we’re about from the get go.  Sometimes it can get really frustrating when the folks you’re trying to teach seem totally uninterested in what you have to say or totally oblivious to the fact that the collective work experience is made all the more better when everyone’s helping one another out.  It’s nice to have someone like Gary show up who just jumps right in and starts absorbing as much as possible and spreading his insights around to others.  Thanks Gary. 

On a slightly more rotten note, Gary told some of us of being hassled by some police officers for walking his bike on a sidewalk without a light.  Idris was quick to arm him with a copy of the Missouri bicycle statutes in case the authorities keep giving him the business.  It was easy for me to imagine Gary reciting the Missouri bicycle laws back to the police all Black Panther style . . . just, you know, while holding his bicycle instead of a shotgun.