The story of (insert bike's name here)

I had the initial tune up done on my bike by my counterpart’s father. Of course he did all the work and I didn’t get to touch it. Then on my way to the train station one day my rear wheel fell apart to the point that I melted the hub from the friction of the disjointed parts. Then I drug my bike back to my apartment and wore a hole in the tire since the back wheel wouldn’t role.

So I bought a new wheel without a coaster brake hub, an 8 speed freewheel since I couldn’t find a single at the time, a set of caliper brakes, and new pedals. Of course to start with I didn’t even have a screwdriver to take off the original wheel. Then I needed to drill holes to attach the new brakes, but didn’t have a drill. Then I couldn’t get the new pedals to fit. Well, I got the left one to fit, but the right one wouldn’t budge.

So I called the handicrafts teacher at school who has already done a ton of work on my apartment, and the next day he brought over a drill and some other tools. Tried out the new wheel but the axle was too wide. So we took off a spacer, manhandled the frame and got it to fit. Then we drilled the frame and got the brakes installed. So far so good, except I still couldn’t get the right pedal on.

So he told me to come to his parents’ house the next day and we would try to rethread the crank. I went over and we worked on it with no luck. In the meantime, he handed me a tin of grease and told me if I didn’t grease and adjust all the bearings we would just have to go through all of this again. Didn’t have to tell me twice.

So I spent the next several hours figuring out how to take apart my bike without a stand or the proper tools. At one point we technically made a tool. And I used several odd combinations of tools to get the job done, including a chisel and ball peen hammer to tighten a lock ring. Mike Goodman’s words repeated in my head, “any mechanic can work on a good bike. The poor bikes separate the men from the boys.” I know I’m not there yet, but this bike is putting me on the fast track to being able to fix anything.

It felt so good to have blackened hands and busted knuckles again. I know my bike now; every bearing has been inspected, packed with grease, and adjusted by my hands; I found the new nut to tighten the seat back to the springs; I tied the brake housing to the frame with a cut up rubber band; I decided where I wanted the brake levers; I know how we rethreaded the bolt on the right pedal so it would fit; I chose the drop bars and angled them perfectly. All this to Ukrainians’ dismay, as it just really isn’t proper to do what I’ve done to a bike.

I feel like I don’t have to fight my bike anymore. I wanted my own bike; a little piece of me. I have that now, and relish the independence it brings. If it breaks, I know it’s my fault, and I welcome the challenge to fix it. Here’s me asserting my control. It’s really kind of sad that I place so much significance on two wheels. But if I can keep control over this one thing, then maybe I can deal with the lack of control on the rest of my life. So now I’m off to tighten the bottom bracket that comes loose every couple of days since I don’t have the right tools to tighten it, and I’ll probably have to tighten the headset again at some point this weekend…