Richard Sachs Cycles

[e-RICHIE]

My Leftist Life

I was in Boulder in ’79 working for Shimano. They sent the men’s team to the Red Zinger and I was the head mechanic. We had a day off and me and Gromek – he was the manager – we were at the mall and I stopped at a jewelry store to get a chain for my mezuzah. The sign on the door says “Free ear piercing.” John sees me going in and teases. “Ha you’re gonna get your ear pierced?” I answered ya, kinda’ sorta’ to see his reaction. “I always wanted to get mine pierced“, he says. So we both man up, get stapled, and split the cost of the pair of earrings. And I bought a chain.

Since then I’ve continually tossed more metal into my left lobe. I may have lost a couple. But I’ve made up for it too. Until this morning, I couldn’t tell you how many hoops dangled. Now I can. Inventory taken. One hole. This many rings. All performing at once. Film at six. Too much information atmo.

[e-RICHIE]

Twice Weekly

There’s less than a moment between finishing a near perfect on every count 57cm road frame for an as yet unknown client, then spending a few seconds admiring my work, transcribing the dims into the RS Lifetime Hall of Records Book No.18, and then doing what I’ve done since Day One when an assembly is finished: I completely clean and organize my work surfaces, use the whisk broom to drive all the metal filings and tube offcuts to the floor, sweep up, and get ready to start over.

For a maker, starting over is that chance you’re gifted, that chance to improve, to get it right – and the “it” is different for all of us. And for each of us it’s different every time. But that moment is real. You finished one. Pause. Reflect, if that’s your thing. And walk back up to the bench and get ready for more. After 45 years of this, it’s still the best part of the job. Redemption. Hope. Redemption and hope commingled. I love it. It’s the only time in all of making when things are perfect. That next commission is nothing but an idea. Some numbers scribbled next to a name. With hope, you actually remember the name, and the guy whose name it is. Because he’s been waiting for the moment too. Just in a different way. That moment of perfection becomes conceptual at best. Because soon you’ll grab some wrenches, a file or four, the tubing and parts you’ll need for the next several days. And in a heartbeat, a dream gradually declines into disorder.

The maker’s job is to arrange disorder. Twice a week. For life.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

Lesson

I forgot about this guy. Pity the poor Richie-Issimo lug and PegoRichie pipes so elegantly joined and ready to become a bicycle frame. But that was late Monday afternoon before the week went sideways. I’ll nail this order shut by noon Sunday just in time to hear the Not The Jonathan Schwartz Program on WNYC. For the last several days I haven’t done much that isn’t related to my new built-in wall units, the ones with the self-closing doors. They’re stunning. And after so much effort spent obsessing about the design, the arrival and installation, and – the hardest part – what to place on each of the shelves, after so much effort obsessing, I see daylight. I don’t see much sun. But we do have a daylight siting.

I love my studio space. I continue to look at all of it as one big art project. Having rolled through too many decades and maybe a half dozen spaces, this one feels like a keeper. I don’t learn many lessons, and the few I do learn I try to ignore as a way to seem detached and aloof – it comes naturally, though I do work on it – this week’s lesson is this: when the chaos ends, the heart no longer beats.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

But It Is

Walking a lot. ‘Will start riding soon. Reflecting on loss again; thinking of it as gain. And on the value of experience. Experiences, really. I’ve thrown myself back into work, in some ways because people are waiting. But mostly because it’s what I do. I’m a maker. With enough distractions – anything at all that removes me from the bench – and I don’t have much to say. I can say it with metal and tools. And in the past year or more since we’re been back, I’ve tried to, no – I have deconstructed my routine so I could maybe just maybe drive it forward. Each process. The file strokes. My torch settings. Even the volume of flux I use. Everything is being stripped down. Or away. Paying more attention. Closer attention.

And of experience. Of experiences. I’m rethinking. Sometimes. But maybe not every time. Maybe all those hours and years are not a positive. The repetition. The honing of skills. The getting used to things so that – et voilà – intuition suddenly happens. Maybe they get in the way. Maybe all that happens is that you’ve done more. Made more. Seen more.

I’ve been thinking too much. That’s fine. And that maybe. Maybe. The first time. That first moment before you’ve had too many. Too many that will somehow dilute the lot of them. That first one is the one. The precious one. The one that’s so perfect that all others are measured by it rather than any other way. That first one is the best. And then the tension follows.

This isn’t about bicycles. But it is. It’s not about life. But it is. There’s a moment when you just don’t know but you try anyway. And that gift you get when you stand back. That wonderment. How to bottle it. To make it happen a second time, and a tenth time too. I’m thinking about that. A lot.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

Walking

I haven’t ridden since the 10th of January, that fateful day in Reno. Maybe I’ll start again after the weekend. In its place, I’ve been walking a good 90 minutes daily. That’s always been my off season activity. We live near the tracks so making a left out of the driveway and then hitting the rails after a 30 second hoof takes me to a private room in which I can either plan my next move of global branding domination or simply detach and look at the Connecticut River in all its glory. Most times I opt for the latter. And when I don’t, I still try to take things in an unserious way. I’ve found that as years pass, and most of them having been lived, it’s easy putting one foot in front of the other, and repeating the motion, and then repeating it again, and then – and then start wondering where I fit into the bigger picture. Taking stock. I dunno. Looking for affirmation. Maybe. My experiences with quiet time, especially the moments earmarked as exercise, these are when I look inside the most. And after about 91 minutes I return to Earth and work with metal. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.

All This By Hand

[3alarmer]

Thought you might enjoy seeing this one. It's old.
I bought it from a guy who raced it here, who bought it from a guy who raced it somewhere else.

I don't race it. I'm old. I ride it some here, though.

Richard Sachs (finished) 002.jpg

[e-RICHIE]

Nice old one with the iconic Behringer I.C. fork crown distributed (then) by Mike Royce of Arnold Industries. Probably 1976 vintage.

Thought you might enjoy seeing this one. It's old.
I bought it from a guy who raced it here, who bought it from a guy who raced it somewhere else.

I don't race it. I'm old. I ride it some here, though.

[e-RICHIE]

Small

Leona Helmsley once said, “We don’t pay taxes; only the little people pay taxes.” She probably wished no mics were near. And Randy Newman sang, “Short people got no reason to live.” Both may have been on to something. Better to ask them. Here, at my bench, the vertically challenged seemed to have all ordered up at the same time ?? years ago. As I reach the end of my queue I’m seeing that 3 of every 4 commissions is for a cat or kitten who’s barely five foot nothing. This 50cm unit I’m working on now will end up okay, but some of the intermediate steps taken to get it to this level of completion remind me of that saw, the one that goes, “Some sets of tubing just do NOT want to become a bicycle frame.” I had to use all my powers, and all my skills as a mortician to ensure this one’s mother never sees what I did to her boy. Fade to black.

All This By Hand

[cool rider]

This is my favorite read. We are about the same age and I will be checking daily if you are open to new orders. I just retired and could fit one more bike in the stable.

[e-RICHIE]

My WTAF Stare ©™®

Yesterday Deb and I went to a March For Our Lives gathering that took in maybe 300 people or a few less. Organized by a teenager. Several adults spoke. Maybe six younger school age people presented. And two people sang at different times. The last person on the program was a nine year old girl who eloquently read from a heady four page text she wrote. To say all of this was moving is an understatement. Everything and everyone was cordial, civil, and conciliatory.

And then there were the seven losers across the street, all with Trump signage and bullhorns, each trying to make an impact on the MFOL crowd. The worst offender was a women who, for maybe 100 minutes straight, kept yelling the slogan written on the sign she made for the day. It read, “Feminism Kills.” What. The. Actual. Fuck.

They may have the right to gather and protest, or stand for their agenda. But to do it that day, as they did, as a counterpoint to those trying to do something against gun violence in our schools – well, it’s beyond deplorable. It was all I could do to keep from wishing the absolute worst for these seven people. But for a two hour window, that’s what I wished, and it’s exactly what I hope they get.

Thank goodness for youth and the next in line.

#neverfuckingrelent

[Peter Polack]

Did the police deliberate enforce a separation of the two groups?

I haven't read any of the other local reporting yet, but I'll be interested if other MFOL events had similar opposition groups in attendance.

[e-RICHIE]

Did the police deliberate enforce a separation of the two groups?

I haven't read any of the other local reporting yet, but I'll be interested if other MFOL events had similar opposition groups in attendance.

The event was held at a commercial space with a large private parking area. The business owner has hosted a 1-2 hour get-together every Saturday since Trump won. It was all above board, permits etcetera. There were police there, mainly to keep the traffic flowing at this three corner intersection. Said losers were across the street on what is probably town land. No one from the gathering gave any outward energy to them. No words hurled. No one crossed over to talk with them. Nothing at all from "us" was directed to or at "them".

[3alarmer]

We had one here in teh Big Tomato, because it's the state capitol of California.
There was a pretty good crowd, because a local guy got shot and killed dead down in South Sac last week, and it's been in the news

The only questionable counter demonstrator I saw was some guy on top of his car, preaching to the crowd about how Jesus was the answer.
When the crowd started kinda chanting back, he responded with some stuff from Revelations, and how the only righteous would be saved.

It was strange, but not really in the same category of strange as the people who showed up for yours.

I was gonna stop and trade scriptural references with him (I love Revelations, with all that whore of Babylon stuff), but my wife,
who is the smarter of the two of us, grabbed me by the pocket and pulled me back into the march.

[e-RICHIE]

Am Ready

It’s different this year so far. I did my time off the bicycle and was getting itchy but not so itchy that I was ready to start 2018. For someone whose entire life in cycling is inseparable from the sport and pinning on numbers, riding is tied to training. Even when you get back on after a layoff, and body parts have gone soft or atrophied, and you’re heavier than you once were, and it’s too cold to even think about tan lines – even still, each ride is a contributor to that elusive fitness your ego craves.

But I wasn’t ready when I was ready.

So I took a different path.

I’ve been riding in my street clothes. My man clothes. The clothes I work in. And when that time of the day says it’s time, I simply grab my winter jacket (from Uniqlo) and change into my Chucks (low cut, and in a hard to get orange color for those trying to imagine), and find a wool hat and some gloves set aside for snow shoveling, and I go. My rides are all while wearing normal outfits that one might be seen in doing a quick errand. No cleats. No helmet. No kits. No sleek sexy Euro chic affected attitude. Just a dude riding around the neighborhood having a good time. Having a really good time.

I’ve been doing 80-90 minutes a day like this and having a good time. A really good time.

All This By Hand

[UnfilteredDregs]

So I took a different path.

I’ve been doing 80-90 minutes a day like this and having a good time. A really good time.

I need to do this. Got hurt, burnt out, look at all the expensive techwear and find myself thinking..."Jesus, I just want to ride a bike without stepping into a phonebooth."

[e-RICHIE]

I need to do this. Got hurt, burnt out, look at all the expensive techwear and find myself thinking..."Jesus, I just want to ride a bike without stepping into a phonebooth."

I'm almost on three straight weeks riding a good 40-50 kms a day in man clothes.

Do it.

[nahtnoj]

I just got done reading Grant's admonishments on this topic in his book, Just Ride.

Its the perfect time of year to go out for a ride in jeans and a sweater.

[e-RICHIE]

Framebuilding Light ©™®

When you explain things you rob them of their mystery.
Questions are far more interesting than answers.

~ from California Typewriter

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

T.G.I.T.

Yesterday didn’t go well at all. It didn’t go. As I’ve grown accustomed to over the decades and many 10,000 hour stints at the bench, sometimes metal doesn’t want to become a bicycle. Won’t become a bicycle. No matter how many tricks or backup plans you summon up. Experiential gyrations don’t work. Won’t work. Calling the metal names is futile. Acceptance is the only antidote.

Ya I had one get away on Monday. Two days worth of labor jettisoned. The conversation ended with the material having the last word. It was like Stranger Things. Only that the torch I was holding was taken from me and the heat source, the lovely green conical flame, and all my will to lure molten silver alloy rod to here and there – it went sideways. Body English epic fail. Body English as a second language.

I rue these times but accept them as part of the whole. And as I’ve done so many other days like Monday, I walk away and then return. And when I do, the dance goes like this: I Knoll the ever loving shit outa’ my workspace. Clutter gets vaporized. The floor swept. All windows washed (both sides). And all brazing tools replaced. Ordered new hoses, new tips, a new gas regulator. Cheap insurance. My way. And then I start over again. Again.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

My Guys

Let me tell you about my files. Forget about the ones with heft, those above the 6″ rattail types all the way up to 14″ half-round bastard cuts. I mean these. The saviors. The heroes I lean on to make me look good. They enable my work to exhibit a degree of refinement. I know it looks easy when I paste in the heavily edited and carefully chosen images of metal sculpture. I grab these lil’ mofos and it all becomes real.

There’s very little I can screw up. Few if any holes I can fall in. And almost no zags I can’t instantly transform into zigs. As long as I have these.

When grasping for perfection gets the best of me, I buy new precision needle files. Sometimes they’re Bahco. This week they’re all Grobet. Swiss files, made in Italy. Barrette. Knife. Flat. Round. Warding. Triangle. Whatever. These fellas are my last line of defense in making a beautiful and tight frame more beautiful and tight. Imelda did shoes. I do files. All in the 6 1/4″ range. All 00 cut. That’s. Fucking. Sharp. Batman.

Each shape is right for a particular task in my bicycle making chores. Some square up the points on my dropouts. Some accentuate the edges on my reinforcement plates. There’s one that’s only used for seat lug slots. I have a group of these in graduated widths that create the slit on the outside of my fork crowns, And there’s a special batch set aside for making lug shorelines even more crisp than ever. After 45 years, I’m still waiting to try this file.

I love these little guys. Little men. The new recruits arrived yesterday and I’ll phase them in over the next week or two. The other batch, those in the second image – they’re from the January haul. I have a special place in the garden they’ll be placed. To live out their days with the thousands of others I’ve leaned on through the decades.

All This By Hand