The Significance of the Triumph Bicycle

     I can be a bit of an impulsive person.  If the hammer of erratic decisions strikes me just the right way, I am prone to act hastily and without putting too much thought into things.  This figurative hammer struck me yesterday, at work, and today I purchased a customer's bike:  a 1984 Triumph Spitfire road bike.

Shortly after buying it.
Taken April 7, 2014

     I'm not going to lie, virtually the only reason I wanted the bike was because it had the name Triumph on it.  What is the significance of that?  Well, on his famous 1965 album "Highway 61 Revisited", Bob Dylan is wearing a Triumph Motorcycles tee-shirt.  And in 1966, it was a Triumph motorcycle that Dylan wrecked, dramatically changing the course of his music and his life for the proceeding decade.  A Triumph motorcycle was, in a way, the cause for The Basement Tapes.  Having a bicycle made by the same company was too enticing to pass up.

The infamous album cover, which sparked the even more infamous interviewer's question about the significance of motorcycles.
Source

     After I gave the kid his money and started stripping it down, however, the ringing of that impulsive hammer began to fill my ears and a small pit formed in my stomach.  The frame was damaged.  I'd asked the kid if the bike had been in a wreck and he had said no, but it's very obvious now that it had been.  The non-drive side seatstay has an obvious bend in it.  Upon further inspection, I also discovered that the entire back end is tweaked at least 3 millimeters to the drive side.

A little hard to see, but the non-drive side (left) seatstay has a slight bend in it.
Taken April 7, 2014

     But this is not terrible news; in fact, it is a great learning opportunity for me.  I am always singing the praises of chromoly steel, and one of those praises is that it is repairable.  It's time for me to put my money where my mouth is, and see if I can repair this frame.  I think I can, but I have never done anything like this so it will be a learning experience.

The head badge looks good but it has been torn from one of the rivets.  I will probably be JB-Welding it back on.
Taken April 7, 2014

     As for the bike itself, my plan is make it a single speed.  Anyone who knows me might be rightfully surprised.  I am not quiet about my disdain for single speeds, especially fixed gear bicycles.  But any good bike mechanic should have one and this is a great opportunity to put one together.  I will of course give a more indepth post after I fix the frame.  In the mean time, I need to build my wheels.

Changing of the Guard

     I've been pretty quiet on here for a while now.  This is mostly because my interests have lied elsewhere, and also a bit because some substantial changes are coming up in my life.  To be terse, we'll be moving within a month to a much nicer, larger space.  Yahoo!

     But this post is about some upcoming projects, and the most pressing one on my plate is getting my Fuji S12-S into a better riding state.  No, nothing is explicitly "wrong" with the bike.  I've just recently realized some elements could be improved, and so I'm working to improve them.

The ole workhorse, hanging up and waiting for its new parts.
Taken March 21, 2014

     First on the list is pedals.  Shortly after moving to Tucson, I installed my Origin-8 Track Pro pedals on the bike, which I honestly like quite a bit.  However, there are a few things I don't like about them, specifically that they are a bit on the small side (because they are track pedals) and they are asymmetrical.  I've developed quite a hatred for asymmetrical, one-sided pedals, and I've had my eyes on the MKS Sylvan Touring pedals for a very, very long time.  Finally, I pulled the trigger and now a pair are laying on my tool chest, ready to be installed.

The pedals I've mostly ridden the Fuji with, Origin-8 Track Pro pedals.  They are actually a pretty well-made pedal, apparently manufactured by Wellgo, they have sealed bearings and I've had no trouble with them.  But alas, they are small, and asymmetrical.
Taken March 21, 2014

     Mikashima Industrial Company, or MKS, pedals are made in Japan, something that stands out a bit nowadays.  A lot of the industry has since moved from Japan's labor force into the cheaper factories of China and Taiwan.  According to their website's timeline, MKS has been making pedals since 1946, and they are one of only two pedal manufacturers in Japan, although I'm betting the other company they are alluding to is Shimano, whose manufacturing is in Singapore and elsewhere.

MKS Sylvan Touring pedal.  Long cage.  So nice.
Taken March 21, 2014

     For their slightly steep price they may look simplistic but they are, from what I've heard, hardy and well-made through-and-through.  I know a few people with MKS pedals and nothing bad has been said of their quality, so I'm anxious to see how well they work for me.  Besides being symmetrical, the pedals are quite wide, even by today's standards.  I've been realizing lately that perhaps my feet are a little on the wide side.  About a month ago I threw on the original "quill" style pedals that came on my Fuji and went for a ride.  It was terrible.  The "quill" of the pedal was digging into my foot the entire time and I legitimately did not have a fun ride.  These new pedals, however, should fit the bill perfectly.

The original stock pedals, MKS Quill-2K.  Honestly not terrible pedals, they are just too narrow for my feet but also lack the iconic tooth which allows for easily flipping the pedal to the correct orientation.  The only thing worse than a one sided pedal is one you can't easily flip!
Taken March 21, 2014

     Despite their renowned ruggedness, they are also known to come from the factory with a tighter-than-necessary bearing adjustment, and unfortunately my pair were plagued by this as well.  Although I have not done a lot of pedal work, I'd overhauled a pedal once, for the heck of it.  It's not a terribly hard process, although a little trickier than the usual cup-and-cone adjustment due to the flats of the nuts being obstructed by the pedal body.  This means you have to use sockets, which changes the procedure a little bit.

The right pedal disassembled.  The chromoly spindle is in the vise, with the aluminum pedal body,
hardware and a few bearings in the plastic bin.  Ignore the left pedal chilling in the back.
Taken March 21, 2014

     Basically the trick is to not tighten the cone as much as you normally would, which allows the cone to not over-compress the bearings when you lock down the locknut.  It's similar to a technique I sometimes use on hubs.  These pedals, for one, had a scant amount of grease, and it was some kind of low quality clear grease.  That will not do!  So I loaded them up with some dandy Phil Wood grease and put it all back together.  It took a few tries to get the adjustment just right.  The process is a bit of trial and error, not terribly precise.  But I got it.

Left:  Original grease.  You can barely see it!
Right:  After cleaning everything and applying my own Phil Wood Grease.  Much better.
Taken March 21, 2014

     I'm excited to take the pedals out for a ride.  The next big project for the Fuji is none other than a pair of wheel builds.  After thinking about it and talking about it for a long time, I'm finally going through with my plans to lace the original hubs to some modern 700c rims.  I have the rims and hubs with me, just waiting on the spokes to arrive.  I'll be doing a 4 cross pattern on both wheels, which may make some people wince, but I am going for durability here.  I also have some Continental Touring Plus tires on the way, and after everything is put together, I'll be rolling along on an awesome setup.  Before it is all said and done, I'm planning on doing a complete overhaul on the bike, cleaning and rebuilding everything I can, and I will be experimenting with a new brake lever position to improve the fit of the bike.  I'm very excited.

All three pedals I've mentioned, side-by-side.  The size comparison should be obvious.
Taken March 21, 2014

     Another post will detail the wheel building process when I get all of my parts in.

Over the Rocks, Through the Sand, Under the Bridges

     Lately I have been finding myself in unusual and wonderful situations:  crunching over hard, sun-baked dirt; grinding the knobs of my tire into dunes of sand like an army of steam-shovels; cranking over rocks and hills and blocks of cement.

     I've been mountain biking.

     Or at least I've been doing something resembling mountain biking.  I think it is more accurate to say I've been seeking out the hidden jewels of urban off-roading.  Suffice to say, I finally bit the bullet and got the final part I needed to make my dad's mountain bike completely ride-worthy.  All I needed was a 9-speed cassette, and I wanted to match the quality level my dad had invested in the bike, so I bought an XT M770 9-speed cassette, 11-32 teeth for those who would care.

XT 9-speed cassette.  Brand new.
Taken December 2, 2013

     But even before that, I ventured out with a coworker and we romped on the back alleys and dirt roads of central Tucson.  This was an enlightening ride, for a few reasons.  I was surprised to find the alley ways of Tucson unpaved and lined by privacy fences.  They were almost inviting, with hardly any evidence of use.  We did not find the broken cars and sketchy figures I was used to seeing down moldy and rotten alley ways.  It was perfect for the burgeoning mountain biker.  That ride set a fire in me that I had to tend to, and I purchased the cassette soon afterwards.

     I inevitably set out on my own rides.  Along the Rillito River Path, a multi-use path running alongside the Rillito "River" in northern Tucson, I found stretches of hard dirt trails, often times running parallel to the paved path, but not uncommonly venturing off into the brush and unknown that lay beyond it.  It was thrilling.  Although there is certainly nothing particularly special about these paths, I felt like I was discovering something hidden and secret.  My excursions out into the underground network of urban dirt trails had began.

Phone-photos of me in the wash of the Rillito River, attempting to find a ride-able path through
the dunes of sand.  I found the passage.  I call it the Shai-hulud.
Taken on January 10, 2014

     Not long into pedaling my way along these little trails tucked under palo verde and mesquite branches, I started to notice something:  I was gripped by fear.  Anything resembling an obstacle suddenly appeared as an insurmountable wall.  It started with small beds of rocks.  My mind was still on my Fuji, and I held my breath as my road bike mind tensed with fear.  Expecting instability, and at worse a wreck, the fat off-road tires rolled over the pitiful obstacles with ease.  Of course.  Duh.  What was I thinking?

     All right, so small rocks are alright.  What about turning my handlebars while on these rocks?

     Wow, that was easy too.  Well what happens when I reach a bigger rock?

     Ok, I was in too high of a gear and couldn't maintain momentum.  So I tried it again, and made it through.  That felt easy.

     What about that obstacle?  Wow, that was a breeze.

A sprig of grass, growing up in the middle of dirt and sand and gravel,
amidst strewn garbage, old dirty mattresses and soiled condoms.  Made me happy to find it.
Taken on January 4, 2014

     I began to realize that mountain biking is, for me, a very tightly packed series of tiny obstacles, with success over each one giving me a small boost in self confidence.  It had been a very, very long time since I had been mountain biking.  I'd done a very small amount in Indiana, but it had been so rare and sparse that I hesitate to "count it."  The last time I'd been mountain biking--real, true mountain biking--had been when we still lived in North Carolina.  The mid and late nineties.  I had still been in elementary school.  My parents were still together.  We didn't have the bike shop anymore, but my dad still rode a lot.  I was just a kid, but my parents had gotten me a Gary Fisher mountain bike.  It'd been so long ago, that I had mostly forgotten the little tips and tricks imparted to me by my parents.

Posing in the driveway.  Gary Fisher mountain bike.  Wish I knew where that was...
Date unknown.

     But out there in the Arizona sun, amidst the cacti and shrubs of the Sonoran Desert, it started to come back to me.  I heard my dad's voice in my head:  "Keep your pedals parallel to the ground when you're coasting downhill, that way you can ride over stuff."  Yes!  And then I remembered my mom's advice:  "Just keep pedaling.  Pedal through the rocks.  Pedal over the log, over the roots.  When you stop pedaling is when you fall."  I was starting to remember.

     So I pedaled over the rocks, through the sand, and under the bridges.  I kept my pedals parallel and rolled over the big stuff.  I got off the pavement and onto the dirt, seeking anything that looked even remotely fun.  Things that scared me at first don't seem like anything now.  I'm still a complete novice, but I come from real mountain bikers, before disk brakes and full suspension and 29 inch wheels; before thirty-gear bikes and tubeless tires and adjustable seatposts.  I'm only going to get better, only going to get more confident.

     Aesthetically I'm still partial to old road bikes.  I like working on them, and I appreciate what they have to offer.  But my passion lies on the dirt, cranking up hills and mountains and zipping back down them.  I'm the son of a mountain biker, after all.

Taken on January 27, 2013

Tools of our Fathers

     I could go into some kind of abstract dissection of what tools are to a mechanic, emphasizing the extension of the mind into physical matter and kinetic memory and feeling.  I could go on for a bit about it, probably, but I won't.  There is enough of that out there.  Not that I completely disagree with it, but I've found that kind of exposition can become tiresome.

     Instead I'll simply say that any mechanic will find tremendous value in tools.  Someone can buy a tool when they need it, use it, and then keep it for the next time they need it.  Tools don't expire, and most will require an enormous amount of abuse to "wear out."  Tools can easily pass from one generation to the next, fulfilling their duties over the years.  When this happens, those tools have even more value than anything off the shelf at a hardware store.

     Keri and I visited our hometown of Richmond, Indiana late October this year.  While back home, I took a day to go through my dad's tools.  Partly I was curious as to what exactly he had, and partly I was wanting to take some back to Arizona with me.  Besides simply wanting some basic tools, such as wrenches, screwdrivers and pliers, I was also wanting the remainder of his bicycle tools.  Several months after starting my job at the bike shop in Indiana, he let me go through his bicycle tools to pick out what I wanted, and I made out with roughly a third of what he had.  Now, I wanted all of them.

     I wanted them because they were his.  I am openly quite materialistic, and it is common for a physical thing to have significant meaning to me.  This, I think, goes with being mechanically inclined.  My dad's tools, all of them, are significant to me, simply because they were his and they were what he used on a daily basis.  He used his tools to wrought what others could not, and they were immensely valuable to him.

    But they are not only valuable to me in a keepsake sort of way.  I want to use them.  I want to use his tools to continue the sort of work he did.  In that way, I can honor him and make him proud of what I'm doing with my life.  They were passed onto me, and I'm going to use them.  It's as simple as that.

    I now have, by my best reckoning, all of the bike tools he had in the later part of his life.  It is likely that he gave something away at some point or another, as he was at times charitable with these sorts of things, but that doesn't bother me too much.  I don't mind the tendrils of my father's generosity vining out and taking root in others lives.

All of my dad's bike tools.
Taken November 13, 2013

     Here they are.  Enough to run a successful shop in 1994, not so much for a modern shop, but it will be a good start some day.  Things to note:

• The assortment of brake tools in the center.  Used to secure caliper brakes in a closed position while tightening pinch bolts, they don't really make stuff like this anymore, to my knowledge.
• The twenty-four freewheel removal tools at the top.  There are a lot of duplicates, but there are also some really cool ones.  A few SunTour made ones stand out, as well as a three-pronged one I had never seen before.  I'll be excited if I ever need to use that to remove a freewheel.
• The large array of bottom bracket associated wrenches on the right.  Again, lots of duplicates, and a few cool ones as well.  One of the lock-ring spanners is made by Sugino.  Definitely holding onto that.
• The truly most valuable tool in the assortment is the homemade headset cup press at the bottom.  Normally a very expensive tool from Park, my dad decided to save some money (or possibly some time) and made his own.  It's a very simple mechanism, there is really nothing special to it.  One side doesn't move and the other side does, and with it you're able to press the cups for a headset into a frame.

     I'm very happy to have these.  I'm going to keep them for as long as I live, and every time I use one, I'll remember my parent's bike shop that I spent time in as a kid, occasionally watching my dad fix bikes as I tried to sneak into his parts bins to play with the ball bearings.

The Sturmey & the Archer, Part 3

     Barring a brief but powerful burst of inspiration the other night, two of my previous posts have been about my overhaul of a Sturmey-Archer AW three-speed hub.  This final entry on the reassembly will mostly contain my attempt at explaining how they work, and a little bit of my experience actually rebuilding it.  I won't go into great detail on that, because it is simply the process of taking it apart, this time in reverse.

All of the parts of the hub, completely disassembled and laid out.  Fifty-seven parts total,
counting groups of ball bearings that go together as a single "part".
Taken on July 13, 2013

     As I did before, I'll start by saying I didn't figure out exactly how the hub worked on my own.  I was completely stumped.  The same goes for my coworker.  After we had rebuilt the inner assembly a few times, we admitted to eachother we weren't sure how the the shift actually changed gears on the inside.  We discussed it for a short while, even with a third coworker who was nearby, but could still not really figure it out.  I decided I probably couldn't figure it out on my own, so I went to where all great men find answers:  Youtube.  It didn't take long for me to find a video that explained the actual mechanics of it.  This video is what I watched to understand the hub.  It's a little long and sort of takes a while to get to what I consider the "good stuff", but if I fail to explain it well here or you're just curious, definitely check it out.  The guy does a good job of explaining it.
     Before you can really understand how almost any internally geared hub works, you need to understand the concept of planetary gearing.  In order to understand that, you need to understand the concept of just ordinary gearing.  It was something my dad explained to me when I was a kid, one of those wonderful little moments I can hardly remember but has stuck with me throughout the years nonetheless.  I'll try to explain it in a way similar to how he explained it to me.

A set of gears, one obviously larger than the other.  If the larger gear were to turn,
the smaller gear would turn more quickly than the larger gear.
Source

     The principle of gearing is that if you have a small gear mesh with a larger gear, and you turn one of them, it will affect the speed of the other.  If you turn the small gear, the large gear will turn more slowly than the small gear.  If you turn the large gear, the small gear will turn more quickly than the large gear.  This happens because when you turn, for example, the large gear, you're forcing the small gear to travel the the same amount of distance in the same amount of time.  A great way to think of it in this situation is that you're making the small gear "catch up."  Inversely, if you're turning the small gear, you're forcing the large gear to "hold up."  It's a mechanical principle that is very important to understand, but is most easily understood when experienced.  Hopefully this explanation works for now.

The sun gear (yellow arrow), ring gear (black arrow), and planet gears (white arrow) of a
Sturmey-Archer AW hub.  This is where the transfer of power usually takes place.
Taken on July 17, 2013

     To graduate to understanding planetary gearing, you have to switch things around a little and add a third component.  This third component could be a few different things, depending on how exactly the planetary gears are setup, so I'll define it by the one quality it always has:  it is fixed, and does not move.  I'll only talk about the configuration used by internally geared bicycle hubs; there are a few other, rather different ways that a planetary geared system can be set up, and this really isn't the time or place to get into it.
     For an internally geared bicycle hub, you're going to have three main components:  the sun gear, the ring gear, and the planet cage, which houses the planet gears.  The sun gear is the fixed component, as mentioned above, and is always fixed.  Being part of the axle, it is affixed to the frame, and everything else in the hub revolves around it.  Now, this is where it can get a little confusing.  Think of the ring gear as our small gear, from the example above.  Yes, the ring gear, which is the biggest component in my picture!  Now, think of all the planet gears, which are assembled together in the planet cage, as the large gear.  But the planet gears are so small!  Yes, you're right.  There is some math that backs up this seemingly backwards concept, but I am not a math-oriented mechanic, and I'm not an engineer.  You can find the equations on the Wikipedia article for epicyclic gearing, if you are that kind of mechanic.  But for now, I'm just going to explain it in that way because I feel it allows the overall mechanics of the hub to make sense.
     So, whenever you turn the ring gear you're making the planet cage turn more slowly.  We'll call this under drive.  Whenever you turn the planet cage, you're making the ring gear turn more quickly.  This we'll call over drive.
     Understand?  Good, I hope so.
     No?  Sorry!  Maybe try the video I linked to above, he does a pretty good job of explaining planetary gearing.
     From now on, it can get a little more confusing because I'll be talking about two very different things that are both called gears:  the actual physical gear inside the hub, and the configuration of gearing to give you, the user, different gear configurations.  To differentiate, I'll refer to the physical gears as whatever their name is, for example the "ring gear", and to the gear configurations as "transmission gears."
     Also, I made a series of color coded diagrams in MS Paint to literally illustrate what I may not be able to illustrate with words.  For each transmission gear, I've provided a diagram with color coded parts, and another diagram showing the power flow, labeled with colors.  They are not completely accurate illustrations, but the proportions work well enough and more than anything it gets my point across.  I hope they help.
     Now, onto my hub.  The AW hub has three transmission gears, which can be labeled as such:  an over drive transmission gear, a direct drive transmission gear, and an under drive transmission gear.  For each of these transmission gears, the clutch is pulled to a different position along the axle by the cable attached to the shifter on the handlebars.  Remember how the clutch slides along the axle?  In all of these positions, the clutch is also doing a very important job:  it is transmitting the power of the driver, which is attached to the sprocket, which is powered by pedaling, to a different part in the hub.

Left:  Clutch in the over drive transmission gear position.
Right:  Clutch in the under drive transmission gear position.
The direct drive transmission gear position is somewhere inbetween.
Taken on July 13, 2013

The driver.  Note the notches, which the clutch slides along.  The clutch is always
within these notches, transmitting power to the rest of the hub.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     In the under drive transmission gear, or the "first gear", the clutch is pulled out as far as it can go.  When it is in this position, it is disengaging the pawls found on the ring gear.  These pawls can be thought of as little spring-loaded teeth; they engage when they're turned in one direction, and disengage when turned in the opposite.  They are crucial to how just about anything with a ratchet works, and are found on any bicycle that isn't a fixed gear bicycle.  In the under drive transmission gear of my hub, however, the clutch is actually disengaging the ring gear pawls and transmitting the power of the driver to the ring gear via the raised "dogs" on the inside.  I noted these in the previous Sturmey-Archer post, but I'll point them out again.

Left:  The ring gear, with the pawls visible.
Right:  The ring gear on the assembly, for frame of reference.
Taken on July 13, 2013

The raised "dogs" (white arrow) on the inside of the ring gear.  While in "first gear", the clutch
pushes in the pawls (black arrow), disengaging them, and transmits power to the dogs.
Taken on July 11, 2013

Left:  Bottom set of pawls visible.  These are the planet cage pawls, which engage with the hub shell.
Right:  The ratcheting surfaces on the inside of the hub shell, which engages with the planet cage pawls.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     So in the under drive transmission gear, we have power being transmitted to the gear ring.  This means that the planet cage and planet gears are turning more slowly than the gear ring.  Remember?  The planet cage has its own set of pawls, which drive the hub shell itself.  They only engage the hub shell in this under drive transmission gear, or "first gear".  In the other gears, the hub shell is actually spinning too quickly for the pawls to engage.

Under drive transmission gear diagram.  Note the position of the Green clutch, disengaging
the Blue ring gear pawls, and mating with the raised "dogs".
Created on August 5, 2013

Power flow diagram for the under drive transmission gear.  It starts with the sprocket
and driver, goes to the ring gear, turns into under drive at the planet cage, and is transmitted to the hub.
Created on August 5, 2013

     That's the under drive transmission gear, or "first gear."  The direct drive transmission gear, or "second gear" is a little interesting, namely because it completely ignores the whole planetary gear assembly!  In this transmission gear, the clutch is somewhere in the middle of its movement range.  I say somewhere because I don't believe it's terribly crucial where it goes.  One thing is important though, and that is the clutch moves inward enough to allow the gear ring pawls to begin to engage.  Remember how in the under drive transmission gear the clutch pushes in and disengages the gear ring pawls?  Well, in the direct drive transmission gear, those pawls are now engaged.  These pawls interface with the ratcheting surfaces of the ball ring, which is threaded directly into the hub shell.

Left:  The gear ring pawls.
Right:  The ratcheting surfaces of the ball ring, which interface the gear ring pawls.  The
ball ring itself threads directly into the hub shell.
Taken on July 11, 2013

     This means that we have a one-to-one ratio; for every full rotation of the sprocket and driver, the entire hub also makes a full rotation.  The hub shell is spinning so quickly at this point that the planet cage pawls can't catch up!  The entire rest of the planetary gear assembly is being ignored at this point; mechanically speaking you're riding a single speed bicycle.

Diagram of the direct drive transmission gear clutch position.  Note the engaged ring gear pawls.
Created on August 5, 2013

Power flow diagram for the direct drive transmission gear.  We start at the driver, which
transmits power to the ring gear, which puts it right back into the ball ring and the
rest of the hub.  The planetary gears are essentially doing nothing.
Created on August 5, 2013

     Finally, we have the over drive transmission gear, or "third gear".  For this transmission gear, the clutch is in its natural position, with the clutch spring pressing it inward as far as possible.  In this position, the clutch is no longer interfacing with the ring gear at all; now it is interfacing directly with the planet cage.  Each of the four pins which hold the planet gears in the planet cage are actually long enough to protrude from the top of the planet cage.  This is so that the cross-shaped clutch can interface with them, and transmit the power to the planet cage directly.

The clutch, resting on the planet cage.  This is exactly how it would appear in the over drive
 transmission gear.  Note how the clutch can contact each of the four pinion pins, transmitting power
 to the planet cage directly.
Taken on July 13, 2013

     So while in the over drive transmission gear, power is being transmitted to the planet cage.  This means the gear ring will turn more quickly.  The pawls on the gear ring interface with the ball ring, and the hub shell turns more quickly.  The pawls on the planet cage can't catch up with the hub shell, and you are zipping down the road in your over drive transmission gear, or "third gear".

Over drive transmission gear diagram.  The Green clutch is driving the Red planet cage.
Created on August 5, 2013

Power flow diagram for the over drive transmission gear.  The driver transmits power to
the planet cage, which then turns it into over drive and carries it to the ring gear, which mates
 with the ball ring and drives the hub.
Created on August 5, 2013

     That's it.  I've now explained how a Sturmey-Archer AW three-speed hub works.  Phew!  The video I watched to learn how these hubs work goes into some detail on the actual ratios, and also provides a good visualization of how everything works when the inner assembly is together and functioning.  That's something I just can't convey in text or still pictures, so I would recommend watching it.  I've linked to where that starts in the video here.

Diagram for the "false neutral" clutch position.  Note the Green clutch is not engaging
any other part of the hub.
Created on August 5, 2013

Power flow diagram for the "false neutral" transmission gear.  The power comes in through
the driver and clutch, and then goes nowhere.  Your pedaling will get you nowhere.
Created on August 5, 2013

     There is an infamous design flaw in this hub, however, which could possibly give the user a "false neutral" transmission gear, that is, a transmission gear where there is no drive.  This is a sign of the cable not being properly adjusted.  Inbetween the over drive and direct drive transmission gears, there is a sweet spot where the clutch won't interface with anything.  When this happens, you can pedal all you want, but you won't go anywhere.  Usually, increasing cable tension should fix this, although that is a generalized fix and anyone's situation could be different.  After Sturmey-Archer was acquired by SunRace in 2000, SunRace sought to fix this design flaw and they seem to have succeeded.  Essentially, the principle of how the hub works is exactly the same in the newer NIG (No Inbetween Gear) hubs, with the only difference being a totally redesigned clutch and driver.  I won't go into any details on it, but you can watch a video explaining the differences by the same guy I referenced earlier.  His video can be found here.

The milled surface of the axle, with the lockwasher visible.  Note the two bent edges,
which restrict the cone to quarter-turn positions.
Taken on July 13, 2013

     Putting everything back together went pretty well.  I used a vise-grip as an improvised vise so that I could keep my axle vertical as I photographed and slid everything together.  There is a bit of a trick to adjusting the bearings.  The axle is milled to have two flat planes on each side, so that the axle doesn't accidentally spin while in the frame.  This is actually crucial to how the whole thing works in the first place.  Remember how the sun gear is fixed, and has to stay fixed?  In addition to that, the milled axle also works with a special lockwasher that fits over the drive-side cone.  Because of the way this lockwasher is shaped, the drive-side cone can only be at quarter-turn positions.  When setting the adjustment, you are supposed to find the position that would feel right for a normal hub, and then actually loosen the cone a quarter turn or two so that it fits into the lockwasher.  Then, on the non-drive-side cone, you adjust the bearings like normal.  You do this because of that third bearing group, in the ball ring, so that everything is able to spin freely.  You actually want a very small amount of play in the bearings for this reason.

     The hub is sitting on my little work table now.  The next step is to obviously lace it to a rim, but I am still trying to figure out what I want to do for that.  When I get to that part, another post will come, but for now I think I can feel satisfied with my three-part series on three-speed Sturmey-Archer hubs.  Enjoy.

Top:  Everything together after the final rebuild.  So shiny.
Taken on July 13, 2013
Bottom:  Dirty, grimy before shots.
Taken on July 10, 2013

     Writing this post was actually rather difficult, and proved to be the greatest challenge I've experienced with this blog yet.  To be honest it forced me to refine and indeed correct my understanding of how the hub worked.  I think I've finally realized why they have us write papers in school, as it is apparently supposed to force us to make sure we completely understand what we're writing about.  Unfortunately, I didn't have that mindset in school.  Thankfully, I actually care now.

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.