Copper Luck

     I've neglected this blog for a long time now.  I haven't been idle with bike projects, I have only lost the desire to photograph and write about everything I do.  It can be tiring and at times annoying.  Sometimes you just have to do stuff and not be so pretentious as to tell the whole world about it.  Haha.

     Quite a few bikes have entered my life in the past several months.  First was the Triumph road bike, which I did actually report about on here.  I have finally decided to abandon it--half out of lack of interest, half out of want for money, and half because it beat me.  You may recall I stated that the frame had some noticable damage, in the form of a bent seat stay and an out-of-alignment rear triangle.  Sadly, that wasn't all of it.  The down tube had a small dent and kink in it, and although I wasn't able to completely confirm it, I am quite certain the head tube is tweaked.  As if that wasn't enough, the fork is also bent and damaged.

     Long story short, I bought a severely bent bicycle frame.  I tried to realign the rear triangle best I could, and the best I could do was remove the bend in the seat stay.  It is still out of alignment.  The kink in the down tube and potentially tweaked head tube are beyond my experience or skill to fix.  What admittedly little research I did seemed to yield something I already kind of knew in the back of my head:  frame alignment sort of requires a lot of trial and error and unconventional and often-times home-made tools.  In fact, the infamous story associated with frame alignment is that the super secret tools of the trade are a few 2x4's and a heavy boot.

     A few months after hastily buying the Triumph I decided to get a proper road bike for my fiancee Keri.  We sold her Motobecane at the spring GABA Bike Swap in Tucson, and used that money to buy a Univega off of Craigslist.  Unfortunately, despite being overly prepared and wary of being suckered again, the Univega eventually revealed to also be a bad purchase.  Although the frame itself has no damage, it has some odd qualities and, lo and behold, the fork is bent and damaged.  I overpaid for it, and the "I can fix this!" part of my brain was louder than the "You should buy something that doesn't need any work" part.  A fork can be replaced, however, and that was our plan for a few months as it accumulated dust hanging up at work.  But eventually we decided it wasn't really worth it, and it would only be a mediocre road bike at best after we dumped more money into it than I originally paid.

Keri's Univega, which we aren't keeping.  This was almost as close as I got to "finishing" it before we decided to throw in the towel.  I put my Shimano 2300 crank that I had on my Cannondale for a while on the bike, and gave her my SunRingle sealed wheels that I've swapped around on my bikes.  Even in this picture, you can see the bent back fork.
Taken on May 2, 2014

     With disheartened spirits, a third bike caught my eye.  Or rather, a frame.  Listed for forty-five bucks on Craigslist was a deep green GT Borrego frame, fork, Tioga headset and GT stem.  The frame, although obviously scuffed from use for the past twenty years, was in relatively awesome shape.  Although perhaps a hair on the smaller side for me, I knew I could make it work.  I fell in love with it immediately and asked to meet the guy at the shop so I could inspect this thing in every possible way, and also hide from his money-hungry eyes as I took my time assessing it.  It checked out in nearly every possible way, save for an extremely slight misalignment in the rear triangle.  Nothing really to worry about, after everything is said and done.  Although the guy I bought it from was a little stiff and cold, he accepted forty dollars for it and it was mine.  Even though it has been sitting virtually untouched since that day, I am extremely anxious to build it up into a rigid, vintage mountain bike.  I've tried to buy a few parts for it on eBay, but I am either too cheap or too slow--I haven't gotten anything for it yet.  It took two bad purchases before I finally made a good one, and the adage seems to have been upheld--third time's the charm.

My 1993 GT Borrego frame.  A beauty isn't she?  I love everything about it.  Ideally I'd love to have some vintage Shimano Deore XT components and modern cantilever brakes on it, but we'll see what I can find.
Taken May 12, 2014

     A few weeks ago, Keri and I decided to renew our plans to get into the Northwest, this time with our sights set on the accessible metropolis of Portland instead of the backwater paradise that is Bend.  In doing so, I will be doing my best to sell the Triumph and Univega.  Don't worry!  I will be extremely upfront with the state of the bikes.  I'm not as worried about the Univega.  Trying to break even will be the hard part.  The Triumph, however, may end up just being donated to BICAS.  I don't feel the frame is excessively dangerous, but it is not perfect.

     Despite our freshly forged pact to save money and downsize for our move, temptation once again found its way into my world.  A few days ago I received a call from a friend and spouse of a coworker who also has a deep fascination in vintage road bikes.  A retired luthier, he cultivates an extreme attention to detail and thirst for the background knowledge of the bikes, parts, and companies of the past.  He also maintains a healthy network of contacts, fellow stewards of a bygone age of bicycle manufacturing and design, which gives him access to objects that may have not normally popped up on Craigslist or eBay.

     He called to tell me he had acquired a bike that was not only very nice and a bit unique, but was also my size.  He wanted to show it to me, and I wanted to look at it.  It turned out to be a 1983 Centurion Elite RS road bike, with an eye popping candy apple red paint job and a delicious selection of parts.  To summarize some of the highlights:

• Suntour Cyclone MkII derailleurs
• Sugino AS crank
• Suntour VX hubs with Rigida rims
• Anodized copper Dia Compe GX 500 brakes and levers
• Tange Aero headset

     The frame is made of Tange #2 tubing, an especially supple yet responsive selection of tubing.  He described the bike as being only a few steps below the top-end of Centurion's line-up.  I was immediately impressed.  Not only was the bike in very good shape--not immaculate but damn close--but it appeared to be all original, save for the wheels.  It is very hard to come by an old bike that has not been modified, and sometimes it can be hard to spot because the part that doesn't belong can very easily be just as old!

The bike that was too tempting to pass up.  Can't wait to dial it in.
Taken July 21, 2014

     The siren's song of bike-lust began to start murmuring in my head.  Although Keri and I had just agreed to not spend any superfluous money and cram every spare penny into savings, I was standing in front of a real gem.  Being a 58cm frame, it was my "official" size, a far better fit than my monstrous yet beloved 62cm Fuji S-12S.  It was in such good shape, I couldn't pass it up, but I told him I'd have to think about it.

     Keri and I talked about it that night and she wasn't keen on the idea.  Not only was I wanting to spend our precious savings, but I was going to buy another bike.  The line in the sand had been drawn, and I was right on the edge.  But thankfully, I stayed on the other side of the line, and let things simmer.  A day passed and I didn't mention it at all.  The next day I texted my friend back and he tells me that I could provide some labor and teaching to help reduce the price, and I decided I wanted to at least ride it--the tires and tubes were dry-rotted the day before.  I pulled the 27" tires and tubes off of the skeleton of my wretched Triumph hanging in the shed and headed over to his place, and we set it up.  I took it out for a somewhat long test ride, maybe a few miles on the nearby bike path.  I fell in love.  It zipped, it zoomed, it carried me swiftly and deftly.  I could accelerate with this bike in a way I rarely could on my work horse of a Fuji.  It sparkled in the sun and rolled quietly.  I wanted it.  I needed it.

     Keri agreed that I could buy it on one condition:  that I actually ride the dumb thing!  Having gotten it yesterday, I already rode it on our weekly Sunday night ride, and to work today.  It's felt great both times.  I still have to go through and clean everything, but that can wait for now.  The most pressing things--a longer seatpost, bar tape, and some brake pads newer than 1983--will be acquired soon but it is very rideable and very fun now.

     Luck finally came my way.

This Wheel's on Fire

The beginnings of an interesting wheel build.
Taken March 28, 2014

     About three months ago I finished building a pair of wheels to carry my favorite bicycle: my 1980 Fuji S12-S.  It was a little bit of a unique experience for me.  It was the first time I was building a pair of wheels completely by myself, and it was also the first time I was building wheels by myself, for myself.  As mentioned in my long ago post detailing my first true solo wheel build, I had only helped build my "first" set of wheels.  These wheels would be completely built by me, and completely for me.

     For about a year, I planned to lace modern rims to the original hubs for my Fuji.  I had prepped the hubs long ago, so the only real hang up was the cost of new rims and spokes.  I'd settled on my cheap stand-by: SunRingle rims, specifially the CR-18.  SunRingle makes inexpensive, yet effective and aesthetically pleasing rims.  They are stout and plain, just how I like most things.

     The spokes are really the hardest thing to procure for a wheel build.  They are expensive--you can't get away from that.  You can skimp on a hub and rim, but even cheap spokes add up.  Unless you own a bike shop and you're ordering straight from distributors, you're either paying too much or buying too many.  To make matters worse, I wanted this wheel build to mean something, which means I wanted decent spokes and a slightly unique lacing configuration--double butted spokes and a four-cross pattern.  Four cross means that each spoke crosses four other spokes.  This demands a longer spoke, and my spoke length calculations were telling me I was going to be needing some of the longest spokes that I could get from work.  In fact, there was one size that I could not get from work.  This was the real hang up.  I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I should do.  Then I stumbled upon a site I'd seen a long time ago, and all of that changed.

     Wheel Fanatyk is a half blog, half online store dealing exclusively in the lore, science, and distribution of wheel building.  It is a tremendous resource, if not for their product then for their knowledge.  The owners of the site are gracious and kind enough to provide custom spoke lengths at a tremendously low price!  And the spokes were actually decent!  I was overjoyed, and certain there was a catch.  But after the spokes promptly arrived, packaged and marked in an exceedingly professional manner, I realized I'd found a true gem of a resource.

     For the record, I highly recommend buying spokes from this website for your wheel builds.

     As previously mentioned, I wanted to go "all out" and so I bought spoke washers.  These "obscure bike components", as they were once described to me, are intended to seat between the spoke head and the flange of the hub shell.  My first non-solo wheel build, years ago in Indiana, used spoke washers.  To me, they were the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of a wheel build to mark it as the product of true craftsmanship.  Afterall, I hadn't seen spoke washers since I had used them.

The finished front wheel.
Taken April 19, 2014

     What I didn't know was that spoke washers are intended for 1.8mm spokes.  The spokes I had ordered were 2.0mm, because they were double butted.  That means the spokes I had bought forever ago were only single butted!  I was tremendously confused, and eventually had to accept the fact that my memory left out that detail.  Luckily, spoke washers are still recommended for lacing the old Sturmey-Archer hubs with modern spokes, so I will be able to use my small pile of washers for that build, whenever it may happen.

     Once I had everything gathered, I set to work lacing the wheel.  The catch, this time, was that I intended to do as much of the build completely by myself as I could--that means no instructions, no guides, no books.  Just me, a hub, thirty-six spokes and a rim.  Overall I did a pretty good job.  I did have to consult my latest wheel book, "The Bicycle Wheel" by Jobst Brandt, only a few times.  Revered as the wheel builder's bible, it's goal is to dispel the mythos surrounding the bicycle wheel with the hard steel of an engineer's overly analytical mind.  It is worth a quick read by any serious bike mechanic.  Depending on one's pre-existing skill and knowledge level, it may not shed much light but it will undoubtedly contain some useful nuggets of information.

The finished wheels.  Ignore the poor photography.
Taken April 19, 2014

     Lacing the wheel is, in my opinion, not the hard part of building a wheel.  It is basically a puzzle, and with enough time I think anyone could figure it out, if they wanted to.  After the last nipple is threaded onto the last spoke, the second part of the wheel build can begin:  the tensioning.  This is where practice can manifest into skill and intuition can potentially make your day better.  I had a little bit of a time tensioning these wheels.  The front wheel turned out alright, but the rear wheel gave me some trouble.  Somewhere in the process of bringing up the tension on each spoke in a uniform manner, consistency left me and a handful of spokes were off by quite a bit.  I had to bring down the tension on everything and basically start over.  But I got it.

     In the end I got a pair of nice wheels.  I've been riding them for about three months now with no issues.  I haven't checked the tension on the wheels yet but I feel that when I do they will not be too far off.  The final step in the whole process was mounting my brand new tires.  Before this, I had been riding Continental Gatorskins for nearly 3 years--almost as long as I've been working on bikes!  I love the Gatorskin and always recommend it as a quality 700c road tire, as most mechanics will.  But I had decided to change it up this time, and get something a little more appropriate for my touring frame and commuter bike.  I went with the Continental Touring Plus.  Still having the extreme puncture resistance that is built into the Gatorskin, these tires sport a more all-terrain tread pattern, are wider, and have a reflective sidewall.  I can say that I am exceedingly happy with my choice.  I will probably never put a different tire on my Fuji.

The finished rear wheel.
Taken April 19, 2014

     I really want to say that the new wheels feel different.  I want to say that I can feel the strength and responsiveness of the new wheels.  I don't know if I can say that honestly.  What I can say with complete certainty, however, is that I ride with an overwhelming satisfaction on the wheels I built with my own two hands.

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.