Another Old Story

Here's another blast from the past (2005). I promise I'll start writing some new stuff soon... really! Until then, I'll just do my part for recycling!

A Cycle of Life

Like most people, I have many passions. I love photography, computers, writing and most of all, cycling. I try to find ways to combine them when I can. I carry a camera when I ride, and try to capture the moments in words as well. Last summer the writing and riding came together in an unexpected way.

A few years ago I started a new birthday tradition. On my special day I mount my trusty steed and ride one mile for every year of my life. This served me well for several years, but eventually became too easy as I became more fit. I needed to find a way to put the magic back into it… and I did.

The magic came in form of a “new” bike. I decided to seek out a bike that was made the same year I was born; a kindred spirit of sorts. My search ended with the purchase of a 1959 Schwinn Traveler bicycle in less than stellar condition. It was scratched, rusty, and in need of just about everything; it was perfect!

I started about the task of restoring it with great enthusiasm. I took everything apart, removed rust, polished chrome and greased bearings. As I was contemplating touching up the paint on the frame, something stopped me. I sat for a long moment looking at all of the scratches and chips, inspecting each carefully. For some reason I just couldn’t paint over them; then it hit me, they were telling me a story.

I ran my fingers over the cool steel tubes, feeling every imperfection like a blind man reading a page of Braille. The entire history of this bike was written in the scratches and wear marks peeking through the fading black paint; scars left by 46 years of use, much like the scars adorning my own body. The circular marks rubbed into the top tube; is this where the cable and lock that protected it from thieves hung? The wear bands on the seat stays from a book rack; perhaps this bike was responsible for transporting someone to a higher education… or simply a paper route.

This two wheeled treasure read like an old mystery novel. How many miles had it seen? What roads had it traveled? How many lives had it touched? My imagination ran wild with the possibilities. How could I just erase that with a little pigment and a brush?

The answer is… I couldn’t! In the end I came to the conclusion that I should go for preservation, not restoration. I carefully finished cleaning the frame without editing the story laid out before me, and sealed it up with a coat of wax before reassembling the bike.

As I ride this bicycle now, I do my best to respect it’s past and guarantee it’s future. It gets cleaned, adjusted and lubricated with great care, but I won’t panic if I put a scratch or two in the paint… I’ll simply look at it as adding my chapter to the story.