Zen

     For several years now, I have been seeking, in a sort of secondary way, answers.  I've been seeking answers to problems and issues that lie quietly, smoldering in the deepest, darkest parts of my mind.  They're the same kinds of problems and issues that are probably smoldering in your very head, for they are very human questions.  Why am I here?  What do I do?  How do I make myself happy, and what is to be happy anyways?
     At first I tried to seek those answers in books; in old books.  I tried to read Walden.  Thoreau is supposed to be the grandmaster of those who enjoy the outdoors, but I have slowly formed the opinion that he was at least slightly delusional, and honestly a poor writer.  I don't think I can forgive him for dedicating a few pages to buying shingles.  I tried Emerson next, and didn't get very far.  I read some Muir, and while I liked his writing style for a change, it wasn't providing answers for the questions I wanted answers for.
     For college I managed to actually read a few primary sources of Eastern religion and philosophy.  I read the Bhagavad Gita and the Tao Te Ching, and greatly enjoyed them.  I think they started to open my mind in the right direction, and I imagine I will reread them in the future to gain previously missed nuggets of wisdom.  But they still weren't really taking me where I wanted to go.
     Unintentionally, I began to find some direction in music.  Although music had never really been a huge part of my life, a few years into college I began to discover music that I truly liked.  It was music that no one else that I knew really liked.  I was liking it because, well, I liked it.  I didn't feel like I had to like it.  I didn't feel like I had to like it in the same way I'm supposed to like Thoreau because I like the woods, or that I'm supposed to gain great wisdom from the Tao Te Ching because Eastern philosophy intrigues me.  It spoke to me on a level I still don't quite understand.  But it's not really telling me enough.  Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Woody Guthrie and Lead Belly aren't telling me how to live my life.  They're giving me pointers, but they are outdated, too topical, too narrow.  They're just helping me realize the answers were inside of me the whole time.
     Then I started to work on bikes.  I began to look beyond the computer screen, beyond the written page, and look at steel, aluminum and rubber.  I stretched my hands, feebly picked up a wrench, and found I knew how to use it.  I was born to use it, my genes know how to use it, and I was raised to use it.  I understand it.  I understand it without understanding how I understand it.  This feeling was mostly new to me:  most of the things I've liked in my life have partly appealed to me because they were mysterious, and I wanted and needed to figure them out.
     I've recently started reading Robert M. Pirsig's infamous Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I picked it up partly on whim, partly inspired by reading and liking an excerpt from it years ago while backpacking in Utah's Uinta Mountains for college.  I wasn't really sure what to expect.  I guess every noun in the title appeals to me:  Zen, Art, Motorcycles and Maintenance.  I'll admit so far it hasn't really been what I thought it would be.  It's been surprisingly easy for me to read, mostly, and has introduced some interesting subjects.  But perhaps most importantly is that it's speaking a language I understand:  the language of the mechanical world.  I get it.  Most of it anyways.  It'll need another read sometime in my life, for sure.  Not that I'm done with it now, I'm not even quite halfway through the book.  But a paragraph stood out to me tonight, a paragraph that I think perfectly describes a feeling I have been thinking of for several months now:

"What's really angering about instructions of this sort is that they imply there's only one way to put this rotisserie together -- *their* way. And that presumption wipes out all the creativity. Actually there are hundreds of ways to put the rotisserie together and when they make you follow just one way without showing you the overall problem the instructions become hard to follow in such a way as not to make mistakes. You lose feeling for the work. And not only that, it's very unlikely that they've told you the best way."

page 166

     I've preached to my fiancee Keri for a while now that what I do has an artistic quality.  I wasn't exactly sure how to describe it or even why I felt this way, but I knew I was right.  Talent can't be conveyed and transmitted from a book of instructions or in a manual.  Sure, text can help give direction where intuition fails, but it can't encapsulate the entirety of what is needed to do it well.  Something unexplainable resides within individuals such as myself, something that allows us to take up tools and use them to do things that most others can't.  And the beauty of it is that it doesn't just pertain to mechanics:  the same is true for musicians, artists, writers, athletes, philosophers, teachers, programmers, engineers, and just about anyone else who does something and does something well.  You can't teach a writer to become Stephen King, just as much as you can't teach someone to have an intuitive grasp of what they're trying to do.  It's born in us, and that is what makes it art.
     That same art was in my dad, it's in me and my brother, and we have to work hard to keep that alive.  I'm finding some of the answers I've been wanting in this book, and it is an indescribably happy experience.  To anyone else reading this who considers themselves even somewhat mechanically inclined, or at least interested, I feel I can recommend Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance even at this point, having not finished it yet.  It's a good read.

The Sturmey & the Archer, Part 2

     In my last post I talked mostly about wanting a Sturmey-Archer AW three-speed hub and then actually acquiring one.  Now, I'm going to relate my experience rebuilding the hub.  Or rather, for now, the disassembly of the hub.

     I'll start by saying I didn't go into it completely blind.  As I had mentioned, I had a little experience rebuilding the actual inner workings using a hub a coworker had acquired and disassembled.  He had found a wonderful PDF scan of the "Sutherland's Handbook of Coaster Brakes and Internally-Geared Hubs" section for the AW three-speed hub on Sheldon Brown's website.  I had tried making sense of the written guide on Sheldon Brown's website, but found the pictures and exploded view of the Sutherland's scan to be exactly what I needed.  I disassembled my hub without the guide, as that is rather easy, and only occasionally referenced it during the rebuild, to make sure I oriented things in the proper way.  I heavily recommend the Sutherland's scan for any internal work.

Top Left:  Non-drive hardware.
Top Right:  Lubrication port, hub flange, and sprocket.
Bottom Left & Right:  Drive-side assembly and hardware.
All prior to cleaning.
Taken July 10, 2013

     I was, of course, very anxious to start disassembling it and tried to start in my apartment but did not get very far.  I was able to remove the snap ring which keeps the sprocket and sprocket spacers on, along with the dust cap under that, but that was all I could remove.

Left to right:  Drive side hardware, snap ring, both sprocket spacers, the sprocket itself, and the hub.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     The hardest part of disassembling one of these hubs, in my opinion, is removing the ball ring.  The ball ring is the part of the inner assembly that actually threads into the hub shell, holding it all together.  These are almost always incredibly tight, and the commonly accepted procedure is to actually place a punch on one of the two notches cut into the ball ring and hammer it loose.  Once loose, a lock ring spanner or your fingers can unthread it.  The problem is that it is also recommended to have the hub laced to a rim to do this, to keep the hub secure and in place.  Otherwise, you need a vise to clamp the hub shell as you whack away on it.  I only had the bare hub, and no vise.  My eager-to-help fiancee Keri tried holding the hub as I pounded on it but to no avail; these things are just tight.  I'd have to bring it into work to use the vise there.

     I had dowsed the hub with WD-40 at home to try and lessen the friction on the threads.  It didn't work.  The next day in the shop, I planted the hub in our vise, with the handy aluminum jaw covers so as to not dent or scratch the steel shell, and went at it with a hammer and screwdriver.  Nothing.  I did this a few times throughout the day and got nowhere.  I was starting to get frustrated.  Every time I beat on it, the whole hub would shift backwards in whichever direction I was hammering.  I tried more WD-40:  nothing.

     Finally I checked my phone for an old text message with my fellow Sturmey-crazy coworker and noted he said to use PB Blaster, a really effective penetrating lube.  I sprayed some of this stuff on the hub, let it sit for less than a minute, and anxiously put my screwdriver and hammer to it.  Nothing moved.  For a moment I was disappointed, when something flared up in the back of my mind.  Nothing moved.  The hub did not shift backwards.  It stayed exactly where it was in the vise.  This meant that the force of my hammer was breaking the friction of the threads, and not just moving the hub within the vise.  Eureka!  With a few more whacks and a lock ring spanner, I triumphantly unthreaded the assembly.  What a feeling!

The vised hub, with PB Blaster visibly resting on the ball ring.  Note the shallow notch on the
 right side that I was hammering into.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     I'll take a quick moment to note that the ball ring actually taught me about something I didn't know existed:  double start threads.  I looked it up and was amused to discover double start threads are basically a pair of threads that can start opposite or next to eachother.  They are used when you want a piece to thread quickly over a short distance, but you want it to also be a very precise threading.  With a "normal" single start thread, you can achieve this by broadening the pitch of the threads, but then you have a very clumsy or slopping threading.  I just thought this was neat, as I'd never heard of anything like it.

A little hard to see, but you can barely make out the double start thread on the ball ring.
Taken on July 11, 2013

Removing the inner assembly.
Taken on July 11, 2013

Left:  The inside of the hub shell.  Note the machined surfaces for the ratcheting pawls.  And the glob of grease.
Right:  The removed inner assembly, vised and ready to be taken apart.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     The first thing to do with the removed assembly was to unthread the drive side cone and locknut.  Underneath the cone is the clutch spring and its cap.  The clutch spring puts pressure on the clutch, wanting to return to the high gear.  When you shift down and pull cable, you're pulling against the spring.  This means that when you do the opposite and shift up, into higher gears, you're letting the spring push the clutch back to where it wants to go.

The clutch spring and its cap, free at last.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     Thankfully the clutch spring is not attached to anything and just rests inside of the assembly.  It's easily removed.  Next is the driver, one of the more uniquely shaped parts.  The driver has quite a few jobs.  First and foremost, the driver is what the sprocket connects to, hence giving it its name.  It is also, in a sense, a giant cone, resting on a third set of bearings inside the ball ring, which we'll see later.  Lastly, the clutch interfaces directly with the driver in the middle gear.

The driver.  Note the notches cut in the lower half for the clutch and the three grooves on
 the top half which the sprocket slides onto.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     The driver is also kind of unique because it is both a cup and a cone.  It is a cup for the axle, and a cone for the inner assembly.  You don't really find that very often.  The nefarious ball ring holds the bearings that the driver rests on.  This set of bearings is what allows the hub to freewheel, such as when coasting and not pedaling.  Aside from also attaching the entire inner assembly onto the hub shell, as mentioned before, it also has machined surfaces on the inside for the first pair of ratcheting pawls found in the assembly.

The ball ring, named so because it houses the third set of ball bearings in the hub.
Taken on July 11, 2013

The machined surfaces for ratcheting, on the inside of the ball ring.  Similar to the inside of the hub shell, as seen above.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     Now we are starting to get to the good stuff!  Next is the gear ring, which also has a pair of pawls to interface with the machined surfaces of the ball ring.  But perhaps more importantly, the inside of the gear ring is toothed and meshes with the four planet gears on the outside of their orbit, while the sun gear of the axle meshes with them on the inside.  It is one of the three parts that comes together to create the planetary gear system that makes this whole thing actually work.  If you're confused on how the planetary gear system actually works, don't fret.  I will explain that in the next post.

The outside of the gear ring, from the top.  Note one of the two pawls, which interfaces with the inside of the ball ring.
Taken on July 11, 2013

The inside of the gear ring.  Pretty cool huh?  This is where the planet gears mesh.  Note the four raised "dogs" also on the inside, near the inner edges of the pawls.  These are important too.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     With the gear ring removed, we can start to see the true inner workings.  A lot of different parts are visible with the gear ring gone, and they're all very important.  First, on top is the clutch.  This plus-shaped piece of metal is what moves when you pull or release cable with the shifter.  In each of the three gears, it does something important.  I'll explain how all of that works in the following post.  For now, know the indicator chain slides into the hollow axle and threads into the axle key (see below), which then allows the clutch to move back and forth inside of the assembly as you use the shifter.

The small plus-shaped assembly is the clutch.  Note how it is interfacing with the raised gear pins.  This is
 crucial to your high gear.
Taken on July 11, 2013

The four pieces that come together to become the clutch.  Clockwise, starting from the top left:  thrust ring, axle key, clutch sleeve, and the clutch itself.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     Underneath the clutch is the planet cage.  In a way, this is where it all begins.  The planet cage houses the planet gears, which are between the sun gear of the axle, and the gear ring introduced above.  On the bottom of the planet cage are the second pair of pawls, which interface with the hub shell.

The planet cage.  Note the planet gears and the raised pins which secure them.
Taken on July 11, 2013

The planet cage and removed planet gears.  The gears are so precisely machined, you can't help but love them.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     Finally, with the planet cage and planet gears gone, all that remains is the bare axle.  In the middle of the axle is the sun gear, which meshes with the planet gears which mesh with the gear ring.  It is pretty important in all of this.  The axle also has a slot milled into it, for the axle key component of the clutch to slide back and forth within.  Interestingly, on this axle there was a rather thick glob of grease hiding beneath the planet cage.  That was wiped off.

The final part:  the bare axle.  Note the central sun gear and the slot which the axle key slides up and down, thus moving the clutch.  Oh, and the extraneous glob of grease.  Ew.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     With all of the parts disassembled, I set them all in the shop's parts cleaner and let them soak overnight.  These machines actually don't run on a lot of grease, which may seem surprising.  Truthfully, all of the grease is with the bearings, as usual.  The inner assembly uses a high quality oil as a lubricant.  Anything with ratcheting pawls typically doesn't use a grease, as the grease tends to not let the pawls do their job.  That being said, the inner parts were not that dirty and I could have put them all back together right there and no one would ever know the difference.  But for my own satisfaction, I wanted to clean everything and try to start over from scratch, or at least as close to scratch as I could.  After letting everything soak overnight, I hit the parts with the ultrasonic waves a few times, used a few cans of elbow grease, and finally had a bin of clean and gleaming parts.  Excited, I took everything home to reassemble at my leisure.

     And so, the next post will detail the reassembly, and most interestingly of all, I will attempt to explain how these machines work.  Enjoy.

The Sturmey & the Archer, Part 1

     It's a great thing when you can turn an idea into reality.  In fact, I think it's a good feeling just knowing you can turn an idea into reality.  It's kind of a special thing, simply because it's not always possible.  Money, resources, time, knowledge:  these can all be hurdles in realizing an idea.  I know about this all too well, as I have quite a backlog of dormant or completely spoiled projects and ideas.
     But lately I got lucky with one.  Ever since I got bit by the three-speed bug, as I described in this post, I've wanted to get my hands on my own Sturmey-Archer hub, rebuild it for the hell of it, lace it to a wheel and create an upright comfort bike.  For a few years now the idea of building up a cruiser has been bouncing around in my head, but there was no great desire to see it through.  This all changed when a coworker rebuilt an old Sturmey-Archer AW three-speed hub.
     I've got to be honest, two thoughts popped into my head.  On one hand I was surprised because I had created the idea in my head that three-speed hubs were too complex for me to work on and thus floated in the ethereal realm of things I should never try to actually fix.  On the other hand, I thought, "If he can do it, so can I!"  Shortly afterwards this same coworker picked up a few hubs for himself, took them apart, and we were both completely smitten with these machines.  The moment I first saw the box of cleaned parts, ready for reassembly, I fell in love.  A deep, almost forgotten part of me was stirred just from seeing the dark, precisely machined gears, shells and rings.  It reminded me of the kinds of things I would play with as a child, sneaking old "junk" parts out of my dad's things and pretending I was doing something with them.  Deep down, seeing the insides of these hubs made me very happy.
     A common saying in the world of bike mechanics is that you're only a real bike mechanic if you can build a wheel.  It's a sort of rite of passage.  I imagine half of that comes from the mystique surrounding the bicycle wheel and its importance to the bicycle itself.  I think the other half of that comes from the fact that they are a bit of a puzzle and commonly seen as complex.  But honestly, I think being able to rebuild one of these hubs is the sign of a good mechanic.  It may not make you a bike mechanic under the traditional bike culture "regime", but in my book it makes you a good mechanic period.  Just my opinion though.

One of the very first Sturmey-Archer hubs, from 1902.
Source

     Time to back up and provide some history, some of which I touched base on in the previous post talking about internally geared hubs.  The Sturmey-Archer company was formed in 1902, in Nottingham, England.  Their claim to fame from the start was the internally-geared hub.  In 1936 the AW "wide gear range" hub was introduced and proceeded to be the most widely-spread and famous of the Sturmey-Archer hubs throughout the years.  They are still manufactured today, and honestly the design has not changed as much as you may think.  Sadly in 2000, the company gave its final gasp for English air and was sold to SunRace.  The machines and tools used to manufacture these wonderful mechanisms for almost a full century were moved to Taiwan, where thankfully SunRace has been working to restore the glory and reputation of a brand which had fallen on hard times ever since the race bike craze of the seventies and eighties.  From what I've read, quality control during the final few decades of Sturmey-Archer's time in England was at an all time low, and they weren't quite living up to their name.  The modern hubs are supposed to be much nicer, although I've never worked on a bike with one.

An amusing Sturmey-Archer ad.  Not sure when it is from, my guess is sometime in the seventies.
Source

     I wanted a hub of my own, and I wanted an old one.  But there was one other requirement which was most important of all:  spoke holes.  A lot of the hubs manufactured for English bikes had forty spoke holes, as this was a common spoke count in England.  Unfortunately, there just aren't a lot of forty spoke hole rims available today, especially if you want something nice or in a modern size.  They exist for tandems, but they are rare and expensive.  The most realistic solution is to simply use the original steel rim that these hubs were laced to.
     Fortunately they also made a lot of Sturmey-Archer hubs with thirty-six spoke holes, which is a spoke count that rims still come in.  I tried finding a hub in town, but I could not even find one made by Sturmey-Archer, much less the AW three-speed hub.  So I was forced to resort to unfamiliar territory:  eBay.
     There are a lot of cool bike things on eBay.  The stifled economy has undeniably forced a lot of people to make money any way they can, and parting out old bikes seems to be at least somewhat lucrative.  I had a lot of options to pick from, and it didn't take long for one particular auction to shine through.  For $27, I could get everything I'd need to get started:  a Sturmey-Archer AW rear hub, a Schwinn-branded front hub, the shifter, cable, housing, and accompanying hardware to setup the shifting system.  Just the rear hub, sometimes without even the crucial indicator chain which connects the cable to the hub, were going for similar prices so this one seemed perfect.  The only bad thing was that the auction ended at six in the morning on a day I worked.  Showing unusual resolve, I actually awoke an hour early, sat on the page for an hour and sniped the winning bid ten seconds before the auction closed.  My first ever true eBay auction and it was a great success!

Everything I got on eBay minus the shifter and cable: the AW hub, a Schwinn-branded front hub,
a pulley cable guide and a housing guide.
Taken on July 10, 2013

     I was very excited when the package came in the mail, and was glad to see the hub dirty but in good shape.  This makes for impressive before-and-after shots!  I was itching to disassemble this hub for myself, clean it, and rebuild it for my own satisfaction.  There is a lot to gain for your soul in doing this.
     In the interest of not creating enormous, "novella" length posts I'll stop here and continue the story of rebuilding it in the next post.  Enjoy.