Bike Wonk

Tuesday and Thursday mornings often find me and a few pals cycling early. That kind of kickstart then leaves bikes on my mind until bedtime.

One such day, I stopped by a small noodle shop for lunch. I’m friendly with the owner. His bike, parked out front as usual, looked like it could use a big tune-up. The chain appeared not to have been oiled since before last rainy season. He confessed that the brakes squeaked and the shifters quit working some time ago. I offered to take it to my favorite mechanics and have them work their magic.

The owner said, “no need to trouble yourself.” I’ve lived here long enough to know that he might have really been saying “maybe I wouldn’t mind, as long as you don’t end up spending too much.” So off the bike went for some service.

The repair guys told me it was a cheap Chinese model and not worth a big investment. By this time, I’d already walked the bike over from the noodle shop and I couldn’t bear to bring it back without at least a bit of spiffing. They got the shifters and brakes working again. They talked me out of replacing old parts with new ones, explaining that some of the sizes were non-standard and therefore expensive.

The bike owner insisted on paying for the repairs. The bill wasn’t huge, but I felt shy to tell him the real number because he and I hadn’t talked about the price beforehand. I told him I had spent about four times less than I really had.

Right away his tire went flat. Rather than walk the bike back over to the repair shop, I rode my own there and bought a new (non-standard-sized) tube. I figured I had all the tools we would need, and that it would be easy enough to fix the flat ourselves. Then I looked at his bike again and realized that it doesn’t have quick-release wheels because—as I’d been told—it’s a cheap Chinese bike and not worth putting too much effort into.

He again said, “no need to trouble yourself,” and this time I wasn’t quite as certain about what the code stood for. I felt badly when I saw him leave and come back with a pair of wrenches that I’m sure

he bought brand new solely for the purpose of taking off the front wheel. Then the repair got really messy as I spilled talcum powder all over the floor of the noodle shop as we tried forcing a slightly irregular tube into a fussy tire. We got the job done but we cursed and sweated more than we had expected to.

To be honest I’m not sure how much he ever will ride the bike in the future—or ever did in the past, for that matter. Looking back, I regretted talking bikes with him on a day that for me had begun with a good ride and good friends. Feeling slightly guilty about the whole episode, I came back home and whined to my flatmate about how I maybe hadn’t learned the lesson of so many backwards development projects here. Often, well-intentioned donors provide money for schemes that to them look like solutions to obvious needs, without asking enough questions about what the community actually wants.

My flatmate listened politely and then pointed out that most people wouldn’t have seen a problem in the first place. “You see, John, you are a Bike Wonk. You assume other people think the way you think. But actually, most people don’t really give much thought to their bikes.” Hmmm. I hadn’t realized until then that I am a Bike Wonk. Something new for the business card.