Ionly after the Covid lockdown I became a regular cyclistbut it became one of the joys of my life. Nothing relieves a stressful day like running down a hill; not having to think about gas prices, one-way streets or parking spaces does wonders for my mood.
However, when it came to maintenance, I was decidedly timid. If something worked, that was enough for me, but how it worked was simply not my concern. I figured the strange noises and glitches would either go away on their own or develop into something that I would take to an expert. I'm not proud to say that on more than one occasion I've walked my bike half an hour to a bike shop to get a puncture fixed; my chain was always clogged with dirt because I thought even looking at it the wrong way would break something.
When the dreaded stack wrote off my bike, I needed something cheap to replace it. For a cool $50 I bought a late '70s Malvern Star – it had rust spots and crumbling tires, but it drove like a dream and I immediately fell in love. Perhaps it was how little money I spent, or how simple and low-tech the parts were, but I suddenly felt the urge to tinker.
Guided by nothing more than YouTube tutorials and irritated phone calls to my dad, I installed new steering wheel and brakes, a new chain, rear rack and front basket, all from used parts found in the bins of my local store. public bicycle cooperative. I was hooked; The ability to figure out how each part affects the whole, self-diagnose the problem, and fix it for next to no money has generated a sense of self-satisfaction strong enough to carry me up a medium-sized hill.
Last summer I became even more ambitious; Wanting to get the project stuck without tearing down my main commuter, I bought an old steel frame and built it from scratch, spray painted and all. There's a lot of satisfaction in creating a working machine from nothing, and I've learned a lot – not least that when it comes to old bikes, parts are a lot less interchangeable than you might think.
It turns out that removing parts, cleaning off rust and road grime, and then putting them back is very relaxing and pleasant way spend the day. When I spend most of my week staring at words on a screen, it feels meditative to keep my hands busy with something practical. I'm still a beginner and tend to bite off more than I can chew, but knowing that I have the ability to build and fix something has increased my confidence in my abilities in every way. I skip cycling when I'm too busy or in bad weather. Plus, dirty fingers are a great way to avoid doomscrolling.
Even when I'm on the phone, I scroll differently. There is a whole world of bike repair content from subreddits where people show off their jalopies and frankenbikes to detailed repair manuals, relaxed trip and without words ASMR style assembly video. It's a positive, calm corner of the internet where it's less about lycra and millisecond gains and more about keeping it cheap, calm and fun.
Of course, there were many times when I probably should have relied on my old philosophy of leaving things alone. An old bike may be simple enough to ride, but making that ride enjoyable can be damn hard—parts wear out, and replacing one thing can sometimes break another. But even that's kind of exciting—I know there'll be another opportunity to dumpster dive again just around the corner.
