meI only became a regular bike rider after the COVID-19 lockdown ended, but it has now become one of the joys of my life. Nothing melts away a stressful day like a quick run down a hill. Not having to think about gas prices, one-way streets, or parking spaces does wonders for my mood.
But when it comes to maintenance, my attitude has been decidedly timid. If something worked, it was good enough for me. How it came to be is of no concern. I thought the strange noises and glitches would either go away on their own or deteriorate into problems that would need to be handled by a professional. I’m not proud to admit that on more than one occasion I’ve ridden my bike and walked 30 minutes to a bike shop to fix a puncture. My chain was constantly caked in gunk because I thought just looking the wrong way could cause something to break.
When a messy pile ruined my bike, I needed something cheap to take its place. For $50 I bought a Malvern Star from the late 70’s. It was rusty and had shattered tires, but it ran like a dream and I immediately fell in love with it. Maybe it was the small amount of money I spent, or maybe it was the simple, low-tech parts, but I suddenly felt the urge to tinker with it.
With the help of YouTube tutorials and angry phone calls from my dad, I installed new handlebars and brakes, a new chain, rear rack, and front basket. All of this was installed using used parts scavenged from the bins of a local community bicycle co-op. I was hooked. The ability to see how each part affects the whole, diagnose the problem myself, and solve it for next to no money gave me a sense of self-satisfaction powerful enough to propel me up a moderate hill.
Last summer I became more ambitious. I wanted the project to be done without dismantling the main commuter, so I bought an old steel frame and built it from scratch, including a spray can paint job. Building a working machine from scratch was a lot of fun and I learned a lot. The same goes for parts, especially on older bikes, which are much more difficult to interchange than they seem.
It turns out that taking parts off, cleaning off rust and road grime, and then putting them back on is a very relaxing and enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. When you spend most of your week looking at words on a screen, holding something practical in your hands feels meditative. I’m still a beginner and tend to bite off more than I can chew, but knowing that I can build and fix things has increased my confidence in my own abilities overall. Cycling sessions are often missed when we are too busy or the weather is bad. Plus, dirty fingers are a great way to prevent doomscrolling.
It also scrolls differently when you’re on your phone. From subreddits where people show off their clunky bikes and frankenbikes to detailed repair tutorials, leisurely rides, and wordless ASMR-style creation videos, there’s a world of content about bike repair. It’s a positive, laid-back corner of the internet that focuses on maintaining a cheap, cool, and cheerful vibe rather than lycra and millisecond profits.
Of course, there would be many times when I would have had to rely on my old philosophy of leaving well enough alone. Old bikes may be easy enough to ride, but making them enjoyable to ride can be incredibly difficult. Parts wear out and replacing one part can sometimes cause other parts to break. But even that is part of the joy. I know that just around the corner there will be another opportunity to dive back into the parts bin.