As I struggled to repair my son’s bicycle, I thought of my dad.
Years ago, he built me an entire bike from parts, assembling each piece while drinking a beer or two in the garage. One night, I brought out a plate of my mom’s meatloaf for him. His fingers were covered in black bicycle grease but he ate anyway, shoveling down massive forkfuls, and returning to his project while chewing. He promised to have it finished before school let out.
With black handlebars, a bright orange frame, and a black leather banana seat, the bike matched the high school colors. Heavy duty tire treads growled down a hill. The shiny chrome chainwheel sparkled like a diamond in the sun.
But I hated riding that orange bike. I wanted a normal one, a Trek or a Schwinn, like my friends.
Inside my own garage, my dad whispered in my ear, “The pedal axle is frozen, kid. Use the vise-grips.” A black grease stain quickly appeared on his white v-neck undershirt. “Clamp the grips, and hit ‘em with the mallet.”
My dad made it sound so easy, after I’d labored for hours, sweating, grunting and cussing at the dumb bike that wouldn’t sit still. I only managed to round every flat edge with my cheap crescent wrench. Now, my dad’s vintage vise-grips wouldn’t lock. Were they broken? Was I doing it wrong? Finally, with one more grunt, the old grips bit down.
With a swing of the rubber mallet, the vise held, and the pedal axle turned inside the crank arm. I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief and thanked my dad. I installed the new pedals with a textured tread, making the SE Ripper safer and easier to ride.
With a big grin, my son tested out his new pedals on the driveway. He asked me where I learned to fix bikes and I smiled.
Sometimes, I still talked to my dad, even though he’d been dead for thirty years.
After he died, I tore apart that orange bike, piece by piece. When I tried to rebuild it, I realized that I had no idea where to begin.
Read Ryan Standley’s award-winning novels, To the Top of Greenfield Street, and When To Fire. Ryan, a high school teacher, lives with his wife and kids near Boston.
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