by Andrea Peloso
A link to The Bike Pirates, and community bike organizations outside of Toronto, are at the bottom of this article. Thanks to The Bike Pirates, and other volunteer bike groups.
Yesterday, a hazy August evening, I slowly rode my broken bicycle down Landsdowne towards Bloor, Toronto's thriving neighbourhood of cultures, grit, and relative affordability. I'd spent over $100 to get my bike fixed 3 weeks prior, only to have the back tire completely go on my 2nd ride. There is something disheartening about this sort of thing: if this bike store had been my chance to vote, I'd have voted for President Nobody the next time round.
Upon entering, everything sped up: the bright light of a the shop cascading through generally blackish hues of metal bikes woke me up like a fresh breeze, but maybe it was the people.
I got permission to pump my tire. Before I could, a rosy fellow in a bright green t-shirt eyed my bike for what seemed like a mili-second and advised: "you can pump that if you want, but the tube is almost definitely shot". He explained that by the way the air tube nozzle was tilted, it was a sign of an obvious flat. "I'll just pump it anyway and see what happens", I said stand-offishly, grateful, but already involved more than I wanted to be. Of course, he was right. "Now...", he said, pausing enough to give me a chance to think about it, you can wait and pay for somebody else to fix it, ...or you can wait till 9 and fix it tonight, I can stay late to help you". Wow, really? I found myself deciding to stick around for 1 hour until there was time, and learn how to fix my own flat.
The center buzzed with a myriad of cyclists and volunteers coming in and out with problems of varying levels of difficulty. Some fantastically reconstructed bikes lay outside.
A cyclist needs to eat. Heading back in the direction of the curry realm, I loaded up a vegetarian thali and sat on a concrete tree pot, joining a swirl of capoeria dancers just done class, cyclists, pedestrians. It was a common moment of relaxed enthusiasm, creative interest casually and unintendedly shared amongst people in their city.
Soon enough I was full, and there was space for me early. WE WILL NOT FIX YOUR BIKE FOR YOU-signs abounded as I entered the work space, and tried to as nonchalantly as possible mount my own bike on the bike stand, making only three obvious mistakes, or every possible "not the right choice" option. I noticed how carefully the first pirate taught me. Not doing for me, doing when clearly no beginner would be able to do it, and then quickly returning the role to me. "A 16 nut is rarely used", he explained,"go find yourself a 15 that works on your tire". Somehow, I did, and two with built in washers, reused by me. I left them my parts for the "rare miscellaneous container". When I went to grab the 15 size wrench, it was the only one missing. As the most popular wrench, and the most commonly used, it was clear it had been stolen.
"How could somebody steal from a bunch of volunteers, people working for free to help others?" I fumed to two of the nearest pirates, one the man in the green shirt. "That's what we ask them when we catch them", he said, "But, that's life". He seamlessly continued to aid the person the bike stand in front of me. Something about the speed of our interchange, and the cheerful focus with which he returned to the task at hand without bitterness spoke to me.
If sharing skills, tools, and knowledge was voting, and he got robbed, he'd just get up and vote again.
One pirate took the time to test and study my tube. "This is what happens when you pay someone else to fix your bike." He said, advising me to keep the tube and question the shop on what happened. It felt like that wonderful moment in Annie Hall when Woody Allen dreams that Marshall McLuhan shows up to back him in a debate about himself, only this was a real way to take care of myself.
A new pirate showed me how to put my tire back on the steel frame once the new tube had been added. "Try to put your tire back on without any tools" he said, "it gets hard near the end". Doing it his way I felt my nails slowly separate from my now oily blackened thumbs, but I found another way with my fingers that mimicked his and managed to do it minus a tool. "Put the tire back on before you pump it up, hold it up while you tighten the screws" were the only two instructions I got from another pirate with a anarchic black t-shirt and a soft Australian accent... I did it.
All pirates seemed to be helping me. There were six volunteers, all who could stop by and help me with any particular aspect of the puzzle, they hummed through the shop, taking over where the other had left off, or teaching what they felt was important.
I paused for a moment to look up from my bike, in a room that felt entirely of movement, action, learning. Aged slogans and stickers were everywhere, mostly cheerful lines on fixing bikes. I was trying to answer a question for myself: why are so many intelligent, expert people devotedly helping others fix their bikes even over their allotted volunteer hours - even when they get robbed? My eyes fell on one old poster in the corner: "Everyone wants revolution, but nobody wants to fix their bike chain". If this bike chain were a vote, we'd all be voting revolution.
When I asked what a decent donation was for the help, teaching, free use of tools, a tube at cost, and 2 free nuts, I heard the common refrain that I'd heard all night: "You'll have to decide that for yourself." In a situation based upon the solid recommendations of others, I'd still had the choice handed back to me, whenever it was possible.
Riding home smoothly, on plush tires, the concrete a faint texture beneath me, I felt exhilarated. The sultry, almost Southern, August air seemed to flow around a brightly lit bike shop still alive in my head. I parked my bike differently, more lovingly than before in the dusty garage. And the thought of it breaking only seemed like a great excuse to jump back on the pirate ship, knuckle down, and be willing to fix my bike chain.
The Bike Pirates: http://bikepirates.com/
How to find a Community Bike Organization near You (Worldwide): http://www.bikecollectives.org/wiki/index.php?title=List_of_Community_Bicycle_Groups
A link to The Bike Pirates, and community bike organizations outside of Toronto, are at the bottom of this article. Thanks to The Bike Pirates, and other volunteer bike groups.
Yesterday, a hazy August evening, I slowly rode my broken bicycle down Landsdowne towards Bloor, Toronto's thriving neighbourhood of cultures, grit, and relative affordability. I'd spent over $100 to get my bike fixed 3 weeks prior, only to have the back tire completely go on my 2nd ride. There is something disheartening about this sort of thing: if this bike store had been my chance to vote, I'd have voted for President Nobody the next time round.
There I was, not much time left in the summer, with the choice of abusing my back steel tire or just going without my bike entirely. I had chosen the former.I slowly half-rode-half-walked my bike along the sidewalk, passing through invisible yet omnipresent realms: first of cooked curry, next of capoeira rhythm, and finally of a seeming cacophony of activity coming from The Bike Pirates, a DIY volunteer bike shop. I had never been in. I figured I could at least get some free air - subconsciously having decided that there was something unique about my flat that made it unfix-able.
Upon entering, everything sped up: the bright light of a the shop cascading through generally blackish hues of metal bikes woke me up like a fresh breeze, but maybe it was the people.
I got permission to pump my tire. Before I could, a rosy fellow in a bright green t-shirt eyed my bike for what seemed like a mili-second and advised: "you can pump that if you want, but the tube is almost definitely shot". He explained that by the way the air tube nozzle was tilted, it was a sign of an obvious flat. "I'll just pump it anyway and see what happens", I said stand-offishly, grateful, but already involved more than I wanted to be. Of course, he was right. "Now...", he said, pausing enough to give me a chance to think about it, you can wait and pay for somebody else to fix it, ...or you can wait till 9 and fix it tonight, I can stay late to help you". Wow, really? I found myself deciding to stick around for 1 hour until there was time, and learn how to fix my own flat.
The center buzzed with a myriad of cyclists and volunteers coming in and out with problems of varying levels of difficulty. Some fantastically reconstructed bikes lay outside.
A cyclist needs to eat. Heading back in the direction of the curry realm, I loaded up a vegetarian thali and sat on a concrete tree pot, joining a swirl of capoeria dancers just done class, cyclists, pedestrians. It was a common moment of relaxed enthusiasm, creative interest casually and unintendedly shared amongst people in their city.
Soon enough I was full, and there was space for me early. WE WILL NOT FIX YOUR BIKE FOR YOU-signs abounded as I entered the work space, and tried to as nonchalantly as possible mount my own bike on the bike stand, making only three obvious mistakes, or every possible "not the right choice" option. I noticed how carefully the first pirate taught me. Not doing for me, doing when clearly no beginner would be able to do it, and then quickly returning the role to me. "A 16 nut is rarely used", he explained,"go find yourself a 15 that works on your tire". Somehow, I did, and two with built in washers, reused by me. I left them my parts for the "rare miscellaneous container". When I went to grab the 15 size wrench, it was the only one missing. As the most popular wrench, and the most commonly used, it was clear it had been stolen.
"How could somebody steal from a bunch of volunteers, people working for free to help others?" I fumed to two of the nearest pirates, one the man in the green shirt. "That's what we ask them when we catch them", he said, "But, that's life". He seamlessly continued to aid the person the bike stand in front of me. Something about the speed of our interchange, and the cheerful focus with which he returned to the task at hand without bitterness spoke to me.
If sharing skills, tools, and knowledge was voting, and he got robbed, he'd just get up and vote again.
One pirate took the time to test and study my tube. "This is what happens when you pay someone else to fix your bike." He said, advising me to keep the tube and question the shop on what happened. It felt like that wonderful moment in Annie Hall when Woody Allen dreams that Marshall McLuhan shows up to back him in a debate about himself, only this was a real way to take care of myself.
A new pirate showed me how to put my tire back on the steel frame once the new tube had been added. "Try to put your tire back on without any tools" he said, "it gets hard near the end". Doing it his way I felt my nails slowly separate from my now oily blackened thumbs, but I found another way with my fingers that mimicked his and managed to do it minus a tool. "Put the tire back on before you pump it up, hold it up while you tighten the screws" were the only two instructions I got from another pirate with a anarchic black t-shirt and a soft Australian accent... I did it.
All pirates seemed to be helping me. There were six volunteers, all who could stop by and help me with any particular aspect of the puzzle, they hummed through the shop, taking over where the other had left off, or teaching what they felt was important.
I paused for a moment to look up from my bike, in a room that felt entirely of movement, action, learning. Aged slogans and stickers were everywhere, mostly cheerful lines on fixing bikes. I was trying to answer a question for myself: why are so many intelligent, expert people devotedly helping others fix their bikes even over their allotted volunteer hours - even when they get robbed? My eyes fell on one old poster in the corner: "Everyone wants revolution, but nobody wants to fix their bike chain". If this bike chain were a vote, we'd all be voting revolution.
When I asked what a decent donation was for the help, teaching, free use of tools, a tube at cost, and 2 free nuts, I heard the common refrain that I'd heard all night: "You'll have to decide that for yourself." In a situation based upon the solid recommendations of others, I'd still had the choice handed back to me, whenever it was possible.
Riding home smoothly, on plush tires, the concrete a faint texture beneath me, I felt exhilarated. The sultry, almost Southern, August air seemed to flow around a brightly lit bike shop still alive in my head. I parked my bike differently, more lovingly than before in the dusty garage. And the thought of it breaking only seemed like a great excuse to jump back on the pirate ship, knuckle down, and be willing to fix my bike chain.
The Bike Pirates: http://bikepirates.com/
How to find a Community Bike Organization near You (Worldwide): http://www.bikecollectives.org/wiki/index.php?title=List_of_Community_Bicycle_Groups
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