This one's a bit of a ramble, part philosophy, part documentary.
Postyn and my Iceland trip almost went very differently (and badly!) because of lack of a couple key bike tools. We found ourselves pushing our bikes along a rough dirt road in Iceland's interior, the nearest bike shop three day's ride the way we had come.
My bike was unrideable, and I was without two important tools to fix it. I needed a bottom bracket tool to tighten my bottom bracket, which had worked so loose that it was binding against the crank arm. That adjustment requires removing the cranks, using a crank puller. Without those tools, we were lucky to be able to improvise with a rock for a crank puller, and the screwdriver tools of two different Leathermen for a bottom bracket tool.
However, the bottom bracket didn't get fully tight and my cranks look like someone attacked them with a rock. Which, ahem, someone did...I was able to limp through the rest of the trip, but had to repeat the whole ordeal a second time part way through.
When I first began working on bikes, I didn't really have any bike tools. In 2010 I built a bamboo bike, which I then rode for two months across France and Spain. I documented the trip here, and the build process here.
On that project, I used a hammer to remove my cranks, a hammer and a file to remove the headset, and a hammer and a screwdriver to remove the bottom bracket. Is there a trend there? Should I bring a hammer to South America?
Since then, however, I've been spoiled for tools. At Williams, I had the Purple Bike Coalition shop (which over the years I was involved, built up a good set of tools, including many that can be replaced by a hammer, but really shouldn't!). I also had access to the machine shop and the sculpture shop, and was on good enough terms with the people running them that I could pretty much come in and borrow or use tools any time. At Williams, I built, or helped build three other bikes.
The first was the steel 29" touring bike that I will be riding in South America.
The second, along with Ben Corwin and Will Wichersky, was a tall bike.
The third, with Matthew Goss, was this BMX-based cargo bike.
Williams was not the type of place that encouraged practical, hands-on learning. The opposite, in fact. But that's not to say that opportunities aren't there, if you don't mind looking around corners or reading between the lines.
I built my blue bike as an extended Winter Study project, advised by an art professor. It was thus a "sculpture" project -- art is allowed at Williams, just not craft! The project would have been completely infeasible had I not befriended Gary, the guy who ran the sculpture shop, who taught me how to braze. And likewise Michael, who ran the science departments' machine shop, who allowed me free reign in an incredibly equipped machine shop, and put many hours into helping me with the project. I really was spoiled, not by Williams as an official institution, but by the people there who helped me bend the rules, and by the huge, huge wealth the college has, which paid for all the "right tools."
Moral of the story? There is nothing like the right tool for the job, but that is nothing without someone to teach you how to use it. Other moral of the story: I'm bringing lots of bike tools to South America!
Postyn and my Iceland trip almost went very differently (and badly!) because of lack of a couple key bike tools. We found ourselves pushing our bikes along a rough dirt road in Iceland's interior, the nearest bike shop three day's ride the way we had come.
 |
| Just walking our bikes through Iceland's interior, as one does |
 |
| Not a bottom bracket tool |
When I first began working on bikes, I didn't really have any bike tools. In 2010 I built a bamboo bike, which I then rode for two months across France and Spain. I documented the trip here, and the build process here.
On that project, I used a hammer to remove my cranks, a hammer and a file to remove the headset, and a hammer and a screwdriver to remove the bottom bracket. Is there a trend there? Should I bring a hammer to South America?
Since then, however, I've been spoiled for tools. At Williams, I had the Purple Bike Coalition shop (which over the years I was involved, built up a good set of tools, including many that can be replaced by a hammer, but really shouldn't!). I also had access to the machine shop and the sculpture shop, and was on good enough terms with the people running them that I could pretty much come in and borrow or use tools any time. At Williams, I built, or helped build three other bikes.
The first was the steel 29" touring bike that I will be riding in South America.
 |
| Here she is, just after being built up. Practically nude! Many more dings and scratches since then. |
The third, with Matthew Goss, was this BMX-based cargo bike.
 |
| Small but mighty -- for its maiden voyage I carried one human (on the front rack) and three six-packs of cider (on the back)! |
Williams was not the type of place that encouraged practical, hands-on learning. The opposite, in fact. But that's not to say that opportunities aren't there, if you don't mind looking around corners or reading between the lines.
I built my blue bike as an extended Winter Study project, advised by an art professor. It was thus a "sculpture" project -- art is allowed at Williams, just not craft! The project would have been completely infeasible had I not befriended Gary, the guy who ran the sculpture shop, who taught me how to braze. And likewise Michael, who ran the science departments' machine shop, who allowed me free reign in an incredibly equipped machine shop, and put many hours into helping me with the project. I really was spoiled, not by Williams as an official institution, but by the people there who helped me bend the rules, and by the huge, huge wealth the college has, which paid for all the "right tools."
Moral of the story? There is nothing like the right tool for the job, but that is nothing without someone to teach you how to use it. Other moral of the story: I'm bringing lots of bike tools to South America!
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