Introduction: I’m a cheapskate

Years ago I used to marvel at my parents ability to squeeze every last little bit of worth from a penny. They didn’t just make Lincoln scream, they’d twist his nipple until the old bearded copper-head whistled. It took plenty of discipline in their day to live a healthy and happy life on as little money as they had. As I’ve grown up, I too have realized the utility of being a cheapskate. Today my desire for utility and longevity in anything I have to spend money for often has me looking for alternatives to manufactured goods.

In 2004 I was hit by a motorist in a classic left cross situation. Luckily for me I was able to roll onto his hood and only suffered minor injuries as a result of this encounter. My bike, a recently purchased FUJI World which I’d only day’s before finished tweaking to my satisfaction, was a total loss. The steel frame was in usable condition; however, the front fork was toast. I tried on several occasions to replace the fork through Fuji’s customer support located in the US and in Japan, but since they don’t actually make the fork this proved impossible and I spent the rest of that summer walking.

The spring of 2005 I was ready to look for some wheels. I have a personal preference for lugged steel — it is a light weight material that is easier to repair on the road, is strong to begin with and lasts forever if taken care of — so I started looking at many frame manufactures that might meet my demanding list of requirements. I was amazed by the work of the many independent frame builders out there, but I was also daunted by the price that these folks want to charge (not unjustifiably) for their work.

The risk to a new custom built bike that “might” be repairable if another “accident” were to befall me seemed unreasonable; remember I’m a cheapskate and dishing out $2000 plus for another bike I might ride for a month seems like a waste. Besides, no one offered the colors I wanted.

In 2001, while touring through Eastern Washington, I happened upon a fellow who said he’d been touring around the globe for the past nine years. We met on the WA HWY 97 traveling opposite directions. He was pushing his bike up the pass and I was at the tail end of my day about eight miles outside of Leavenworth, WA. He hailed me and I stopped to see if I could help. His rear was a bit sore he said, and he was walking to give it a break. We chatted for a while, and as conversations between cyclists often do, the topic gradually turned to our rides.

He was riding a Schwinn of some sort; the exact origins of the bike were concealed under gobs of forest green paint with red flecks splattered on for theft-proofing. He explained that this was the only bike he’d ever owned and the only one he planned on owning. His components were mostly Shimano 105 which he had used to replace his last set of worn parts somewhere in South Asia. His panniers were four square food buckets bolted to his steel racks — waterproof and he never squished bananas.

We ended up spending a good part of that afternoon talking in the shade of a cherry tree. There are orchards all over the valley and I had earlier picked up a couple of pounds of tree rip Rainer cherries so there wasn’t much of a rush to get back in the saddle. As we talked I looked closer and began to see the utility in all his little tweaks and as he detailed his stories of globe trotting I began to understand the decisions that had lead him to this stretch of road on that bike.

This fellow had some stories to tell too. He was from Australia and had made some sort of small fortune more than a decade before. I believe he did something with computers, but we never really dug into that. He had spent the last two years in Asia and a good deal of that time in China. He pulled out a small jar of dirt he had picked up in Nepal and waxed quixotic about the elevation. He had entered the US from Canada recently and been mugged in a hostile in Seattle. This trip was only to get out of the city before it killed him, he said.

Our conversation touched on something that I had suspected for a long time, but had never really put into practice. I’ve kind of marked that day in July as a turning point for me philosophically.

Years passed and I never really tried what I suspected might be a better choice because I was afraid that I’d find myself on some roadside pushing a ruined bike as all the other tourists passed me laughing. But opportunities are sometimes hard to identify, even when they smack you square between the eyes, and last spring while standing around my favorite bike shop that incidentally sells used bikes I was compelled to try something new and cheap.

“What do you know?” I said to myself as Skip rolled out an early 80’s Bianchi Randonnee. It was pretty beat up, the paint was flaking off and there was a little rust here and there. But my, oh my, the lug work under all that crappy paint was something to be admired.

Sixty bucks later I rode the bike back to my apartment. My wife was not impressed until I told her that I wasn’t out a paycheck on a bike. I had to show her the invoice to convince her that I really hadn’t spent all that much on it. This is the story of how I turned a $60 frame, a pile of old components, and some elbow grease into the best ride I’ll ever own.

Yeah I’m a cheapskate, but I’m a happy one.

Dr. Rubbergloves: Or How I Learned to Love Krylon Paint in a Can

The Bianchi I had brought home with me was a nice frame, but it wasn’t in good condition when I left the store. The ride home let me know that the breaks left much to be desired. The friction shifter and drive train lacked the range I’d want climbing while loaded and I knew that I’d be getting out the steal wool sometime in the near future to clean off the rust.

Step one: stripping the bike of any and all gear, paint or rust. I cut cables, removed the derailleur, and pulled the handlebars off and then the headset. The seat came off and the BB came out. Both wheels came off and then I felt I was ready to start stripping paint. I used an organic paint peeler made from orange peels and this seemed to get the work started.

The paint on the forks practically ran off screaming when the fumes got near it, but the rest of the frame took several coats and lots of scrubbing with a copper pad. Like Dr. Frankenstein I ground away at the parts of this frame that I couldn’t use any longer, these things were dead and no longer required my attention. After several afternoons of scrubbing and painting on coats of peeler all the metal was exposed.

The wire brush came out next and a little rust treatment and sealer went all over the bike. After the rust had been brushed away I rubbed the sealer into the frame with a rag. The gray of the steal pipes looked pretty good at this point and I considered painting it with only a clear coat, but then the saddle showed up and a honey Brooks B17 called for more attention. The detail around the bottom bracket was the hardest to clean and I ended up chipping the last bits of paint off with a scrapper.

Step two: figure out the best color for me. As I mentioned I had a saddle that I had ordered from a nice fellow on eBay. A brand new Brooks B17 in honey leather with the big brass studs. Somewhat recently I had ridden part of the way to work with a woman who’s husband had rebuilt an old frame for her because she was small and it fit. He was some sort of design super genius so the whole thing — frame, fenders, bar tape, and bags — matched wonderfully and I asked her where she had the paint done since it was a very nice powder coat.

Her help had me calling auto shops near and far looking for someone who could powder coat two colors at once. The more I called the less reasonable this option began to seem. One color ran around $90 for the whole frame and I’d have to wait until the shop was painting a color that I wanted — otherwise I could do lime green now. Two colors started at around $500, sheesh! Lime green is not my favorite color and one that would clearly clash with the saddle I’d just won; I was beginning to wonder if there weren’t a better and cheaper option.

Back at my favorite bike shop questions were posed as I stood at the repair counter one afternoon. Skip and crew wanted to know what I was doing with the frame. I told them my dilemma and every one rubbed their chins for a while. “You know my bike is only painted with Krylon and stickers” said Skip. I decided to look into it.

Step three: one can of primer, two cans of Almond, and a can of Classic American Red. On the way home I walked past a little Mom and Pop hardware store I’ve frequented for odds-and-ends and supplies for fix-it jobs around the house. They have a paint isle although I hadn’t really looked at it before. Today I looked. I was guessing that the whole frame might take only two cans of paint (based on my estimate of its total surface area), but in reading the fine print of some kinds of paint I discovered that not all aerosol paints are created equal. I ended up going with Krylon paint after spending way too much time reading paint labels. Think Mom and Pop started to wonder about me when I brought my cans of paint to the front.

“What are you up to?” suspicion in his voice.
“Painting my bike.”
“Oh, well then I was thinking you were going tagging or something. But these colors will look nice together I’d say.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

He asked me to come back later and show the work off when I was done. I agreed, paid my bill and wondered the rest of the way home.

Step three: set the frame up for painting. This turned out to be harder than I’d anticipated. I created a painting stand to hang the frame from; this was intended to allow me to spray it and leave it alone to dry. I hung the frame from the rear porch of our apartment and put up cardboard boxes cut in half to protect the pavement.

The primer coat is a stark white color which attracts gnats like no bodies business. I sprayed the first coat on the frame and left it alone for the required hour of dry time. When I came back I had to pick about 100 of those idiotic little bugs from my frame by hand. I’d learned my lesson and brought a box fan out onto the porch. The next coat went on, the fan blew the gnats away, but this proved ineffective against an incoming storm. Fortunately I was able to bring the drying rack and frame into the house after the second coat went on and dried to a nice tack.

The rest of the weekend had me in and out on the porch painting, drying, sanding, running from the rain and then setting it up all over again. A friend at work joked with me that my project deadline was slipping; he suggested that I go buy a new bike.

By Tuesday of that week I had the bike painted and it had dried enough that I could handle it. The hardest part was the lug work since I had to tape around the gentle curves and paint the rest by hand.

Lugs finished and dried I grabbed the headset, connected the fork and mounted the wheels. “Wow!” was all I could say. And even better I did all that.

Its Not Made of Legos: Hacking the parts and Making it all Work

Step four: putting it all back together. I mentioned earlier that I had a pile of old parts I intended to use on this project bike. My plan was to use as much as I had without buying anything new if it could be avoided. What I discovered was that bikes aren’t made like Lego and sometimes ingenuity is your best tool.

The bottom bracket is threaded English which saved me much trouble since all the components I had were also threaded the right way. Like I said I had already taken all of the old components and placed them neatly into the “dead to me” bin. I had no intention of using those parts and for all intents and purposes had forgotten that most of them existed. I buried them in the back of the basement under some beer making carboys. This assumption turned out to be my first mistake.

Reassembly went pretty fast for a while. I had mounted the handle bars, the bottom bracket and derailleur before I realized that the seat post and break calipers I wanted to use didn’t fit. Frustrated for the moment I put those parts to the side, mounted the brifters and ran cable to the derailleur. The chain connected moments later I gave the rear wheel a spin with the crank arm and noticed that the whole rear end was out of dish … horribly. The bottom end of the rear cog was so close to the chain stay that when I shifted up the chain rubbed against the bar. This wasn’t something I was equipped to handle so I loaded the frame and rear wheel onto my back and started to hike.

Recycled Cycles (my favorite shop) re-dished the rear wheel and ensured that the rear dropouts were parallel with a really cool vice tool they have. Everyone at the shop complimented me on my choice of color, asked where the saddle I had bought was, and publicly wondered if I’d ever be done. While Jon worked we talked about my total bill to-date too. An hour later I walked out of the shop with a dished wheel and straight drop-outs and my head swimming with ideas to get the saddle (now dubbed the “honey seat” mounted on the bike ASAP. All this for only $10 bucks!

By the time I had marched home I realized that there was a seat post there that would fit. I went to the basement and dug it out, along with the old break calipers. Everything was a shade of rust coated with grime. I set to work in the kitchen sink scrubbing the dirt and rust from the seat post and using solvent on the break arms. This activity spread, fortunately, and by the time my wife returned home that evening I had scrubbed a polish into several pots, a frying pan, and the steel sink I had been working in. She thanked me while I made dinner in a really shinny pan.

After the dishes were done the seat went on post and then into the frame. Man it was really starting to look good!

Once all the parts had been added and the cranks had spun I dubbed the bike Scout after Tonto’s horse. I’ve never been interested in riding Silver. High maintenance steeds take too much time and can’t go the places a good old saddle horse can without fear of a broken leg or outright theft. Scout was a trail pony accustomed to long days in the saddle and glad for the change of view every night when Tonto put her out to graze.

Sure I can’t yell “Hi-Ho Silver and away!” when I leave for work in the morning, but I’m pretty certain that Scout and I will make it where we intend to go. Since Scout’s completion I’ve made minor changes. I added a set of Nitto racks, some fenders, a new Schmidt dynamo hub and pair of lamps, and I plan on finishing a custom set of wool panniers for her. She remains a quiet, steadfast friend throughout the best and the worst the world may toss our way.